


Shaken by How Long it Took

by Eurazba



Category: Coco (2017)
Genre: 'cause that's what y'all have been callin' it, Bittersweet, During Movie, Family Secrets, Father-Son Relationship, Gen, Parallels Canon, Photo, Pre movie, but the interactions are different, dynamic shift, i just want hector to be happy, like the story is still the same, that's all I want for them, this is like the most kid friendly fic I've ever written, to have a nice father son relationship, wedding photo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-11
Updated: 2018-08-23
Packaged: 2019-04-21 08:44:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 43,318
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14281245
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eurazba/pseuds/Eurazba
Summary: 9 year old Miguel finds an old photo in the attic of none other than his great, great grandfather and Ernesto De la Cruz! He puts it up on his shrine to Ernesto and at the next Dia de los Muertos Héctor is shocked to find that he can finally cross the marigold bridge.





	1. What makes you think I’m so Special

**Author's Note:**

> This was inspired by a [tumblr post](http://eurazba.tumblr.com/post/172450947415/wee-chlo-in-the-attic-of-the-rivera-home) by [Wee-Chlo](http://wee-chlo.tumblr.com/)
> 
> Also disclaimer: I am pretty damn white, the most interaction I’ve had with Mexican culture is from my best friend I grew up with whose father was from Mexico and other friends and coworkers with Mexican heritage. If I get anything wrong, please tell me and I’ll try to fix it.

It was by chance that Miguel had found the photo. He had been searching through his hideout in the attic, looking for whatever tools or parts he could use to help put together his partial guitar. In a box he had found wedding cords, a wedding band with tiny bits of tarnish peeking from it ends, and the most important thing.

A photo.

On the left were Tío Oscar and Felipe as young men and Mamá Imelda in a wedding dress, smiling, something Miguel couldn’t really imagine after years of seeing the intense gaze she gave in her photo on the ofrenda. On the other side was a man Miguel had never seen before, dressed snappy in a suit, undeniably his great, great grandfather, and most importantly of all, Ernesto De La Cruz!

Miguel had almost fallen over when he found it, his great, great grandfather was amigos with Ernesto De la Cruz? And not just any friends, best friends if he were going off the fact that Ernesto was at his great, great grandparents’ wedding. He was absolutely giddy as he pulled out the photo. It made sense, of course, when he thought about it. His great, great grandfather was a musician, just like Ernesto, they must have played music together when they were young!

The picture was still in rather good condition, aside from the fold down the middle of the photo, effectively cutting Imelda’s side off from his great, great grandfather’s side. Miguel folded the photo on the pre-existing line with the side showing his great, great grandfather and De la Cruz facing up. He placed it to the side of his slowly growing shrine for De la Cruz before scurrying around the attic to find some kind of photo frame to protect it. The one he finally found under a small stack of newspapers was worn out, it’s wood splintering at the corners and the glass cracked, but the folded picture fit perfectly inside. He put the picture up in front of a couple of De la Cruz record albums he had managed to find, their disks had too many cracks and scratches to be played anymore, but they were prized possessions of Miguel’s slowly growing collection none the less.

He couldn’t believe his luck at finding the picture, and so close to Dia de los Muertos, maybe De la Cruz would visit, seeing the photo up of him and his old friend. Maybe his Mama Coco knew something about De la Cruz, or maybe she met him when she was young!

He turned to his partially complete guitar, his great, great grandfather and De la Cruz were both musicians, they must have played together. Miguel always knew that he and De la Cruz were connected somehow, and he couldn’t help but beam at the information, he was going to be a musician too, just like them!

Fueled by his discovery and idolization, Miguel went back to building his guitar. He made quick work of putting together the pieces he had collected already, and set out after to find more of what he could use to make his guitar, though not before lighting a candle next to De la Cruz and his great, great grandfather’s photo first. He should try to ask his Mama Coco for his great, great grandfather’s name when he could.

* * *

 

Héctor had been preparing for Dia de los Muertos for a few months now, collecting and “borrowing” items for his disguise, and setting up at least two back up attempts to cross the marigold bridge should the disguise not work. He can usually only manage three attempts in the night before they stopped letting him off with warnings and locked him up for the night. But tonight, tonight felt different, he was _going_ to cross that bridge.

Héctor looked at himself in the compact mirror in his hand as he positioned the long curly wig on his head and put on the jingly earrings. With his old, weathered bones, he _had_ to cross the bridge. He didn’t know how much time he would have; Coco was already so old.

He snapped the mirror close with a shake of his head, trying not to think of being forgotten and disappearing before seeing her. With a quick adjustment of the bedazzled jacket, he set off to the Santa Cecilia gate he knew all to well, he had to start early, for it was going to be a long night ahead of him.

In the line for the gate he heard quiet whispers behind him.

“Is that-”

“No way.”

“What is she doing coming to Santa Cecilia?”

Héctor didn’t look behind him, just keeping his eyes straight and moving up with the line, needing to keep a proper persona to fool the silly machine, or at the very least, distract and confuse the gatekeeper and guards enough to make a run for it across the marigold bridge. He should have worn lipstick he realized as he took a step forward smiling with a wink at the gatekeeper, she didn’t seem fazed.

“Surely we can skip all this, eh?” He asked, raising his voice an octave, “I’ve got a lot of places to be tonight, and there’s only one me.”

“You know the rules,” The gatekeeper responded with a smile, enjoying this weird game that they played almost every year.

 It was harder and harder to hide the yellowing of his bones and play himself off as someone famous and well-remembered, but he had to try. He steeled himself to book it should that damned machine make it’s horrendous buzzing noise.

But it never came.

Instead of the buzzing, a cheerful ding came from the machine, louder than he had ever heard it before for being so close.

It worked! His disguise worked!

“Héctor…” The gatekeeper said softly, her face covered in shock. He briefly faltered, wondering if the gatekeeper would actually let him through despite his fooling the machine, having easily seen through his disguise, “Your photo.”

“My photo?” He asked her, curious as to what she was seeing.

“Your photo is on your great, great grandson’s ofrenda,” She said.

“What?” He squawked, his great, great grandson’s ofrenda? None of his family ever put up his photo, why would they start now?

“You know, I never actually believed you when you said that you were good friends with Ernesto de la Cruz,” She said, looking at the photo in amusement.

“Wait, what? Let me see,” He said, leaning over the counter to look at the screen, she turned it so he could get a better look.

Someone behind complained that they were taking too long, but Héctor didn’t care, cause on that screen he saw the most incredible thing.

A picture of him and Ernesto, in a busted up little picture frame and flanked by a couple of candles. He recognized it immediately.

“My wedding photo,” He mumbled in amazement to himself, except the half with Imelda and her brothers was folded over so you could only see him and Ernesto. He was surprised that Imelda kept it after all this time.

“Have a wonderful visit,” The gatekeeper said, breaking him out of his daze and smiling at him, “Make sure to be back by sunrise, and have all of your offerings ready for re-entry.”

“Yes, yes, thank you!” He said incredulously, ripping off the disguise and running to the bridge. Habit made him peek over his shoulders to make sure that none of the guards were chasing after him, but they just stared at him from where they stood, surprised by what they heard as well. When Héctor actually got to the marigold part of the bridge, he stopped, and cautiously took a step forward. Would the bridge actually let him cross?

The feeling of the petals beneath his bony feet allowing him to stand was one of the most wonderful things he had felt.

He continued forward, watching how the petals would glow with each of his steps. Gradually, he sped up, until he was running again, letting out a loud, joyful grito that he was finally crossing the marigold bridge after all these years.

At the end of the bridge was the Santa Cecilia cemetery, almost unrecognizable as it was full of more graves, people, and skeletons than he had ever seen before. It glowed a warm orange with candles and marigolds. He passed though a mysterious invisible barrier and received a soft shine from his bones, it didn’t stop him as he continued running through the cemetery, dodging skeletons and graves to and fro. He hoped that he could remember where he lived as he ran out the cemetery and followed the marigold path that seemed most correct.

When he reached the house he remembered he and Imelda had together with Coco, he found it startlingly covered in patterned cloths, dim in the light of the setting sun. It had been converted into a fabric shop. He frowned, remembering Oscar and Felipe telling him when they first came to the Land of the Dead that the family had become shoemakers, not cloth makers. This must not have been their house anymore, they probably lived somewhere bigger, with more room for everyone. He knew the family had greatly grown from his occasional eavesdropping on Imelda’s conversations with others.

It could take him all night to try and find their new home. He deflated at the thought but turned when a dog bark at him. The Xolo dog trotted up and circled around him to show that they could see him, someone’s alebrije, certainly not his as he had gone too long without one. None the less, he followed it when it walked away.

They reached a different marigold path and followed it until Héctor stood before a grand hacienda, the wall proudly telling him that this is where the Rivera Shoemakers lived. It was the right place. The dog had left and he slowly approached the open gate and peeked his head through curiously. People of all ages hustled and bustled about as they set up a table and pulled delicious smelling foods from a kitchen to put out, everyone talked and laughed, happy to be with their family. Héctor took a few steps inside and scanned the people as they all gathered to sit, looking for his dear Coco and wondering about his mysterious great, great grandson.

There were two potential great, great grandsons who could have put up his picture. A boy in his preteens, his face covered in a constellation of acne and happily talking with his family, most likely his mother by the looks of it. And a younger boy, no older than the age of nine with an adorable dimple on one cheek, sitting himself down next to the empty head of the table. He tried to listen for their names and weigh which of them could have been the one to put out his picture, but he quickly forgot them when he saw her.

There, being pushed in a whicker wheelchair to the head of the table by a woman in her early 30’s, was his daughter. His Coco.

Her hair was a startling white, only broken by a few grey strands still remaining and weaving themselves through her braids, and her skin was more wrinkled than a crumpled paper bag but it was undeniably her. She smiled as she was wheeled to the table, the little boy next to her, her _great_ grandson, greeted her cheerfully.

As quickly as his feet could take him, Héctor rushed across the courtyard to her side, kneeling and enveloping her in a hug despite her not being able to feel it. It took every ounce of his power to not begin sobbing right then and there.

“Coco, my dear Coco,” He whispered pulling away from her and looking at her wrinkled face, “I’m back, I’m home, your papá is home. I’m so happy to see you.”

She straightened from where she sat, those seated closest to her glanced over to see if she needed anything.

“Papá is here,” She said gently, assuredly.

Hector felt his heart warm at hearing that, she knew he was there, she knew her papa had come home to her. Admittedly it was a bit worrisome as he remembered hearing that only those who are very old or close to death can feel when their family’s spirit is present, but if this was his only chance to see her, then he was going to take it for everything that it was for as long as he could.

There were immediate statement’s following what Coco said, his family bad mouthing him, wondering why he would come back now after leaving his family for so long. Héctor felt his mood drop at hearing it, but he couldn’t blame them, most had gone their entire lives only hearing Imelda’s strong opinion of him, they could only know so much of the story.

His little great, great grandson leaned over to Coco, helping serve food onto her plate.

“Is your papa really here?” He asked, his voice low and his eyes bright.

She turned to him and nodded slowly, his face brightened at the response and Héctor smiled at seeing that someone in the family didn’t completely hate him.

“I found a photo a couple weeks ago, of your papá and Ernesto de la Cruz! They were amigos weren’t they?” He asked, his voice quieter and looking at Coco with star struck anticipation.

Coco didn’t respond, probably unable to hear his quiet voice with her old ears. The boy deflated a little at the lack of response and Héctor realized with his own deflation that the only reason the boy must have put up his photo was because of his relation to his famed old friend.

“Miguel, eat, you’re a growing boy,” The boy’s abuela said, if Héctor remembered correctly her name was Elena, one of Coco’s daughters. He made note of the boy’s name.

Héctor spent his time talking to Coco, listening to the stories everyone shared around the table, and mentally trying to keep track of everyone’s name and who in the family they were. After some time he heard the unmistakable sound of Imelda’s voice followed by Oscar, Felipe, and others coming from the gate, they were getting closer with each second. Héctor sprang up, running across the courtyard to an arched exit and hiding from the view of his wife. This was a happy occasion, made happier by the fact that he was actually here, but it would undoubtedly be ruined if Imelda saw him, old wounds being forcefully dredged up by them facing each other.

No, instead, Héctor took to inspecting the hacienda, careful not to be seen by any of his dead family. He looked around the empty workshop with amazement, only Imelda would be able to make something this grand with only shoes. He peeked into the ofrenda room through a hallway, marveling at the pictures, but distinctly not seeing his, the one that Miguel had put up. He looked up at the top, where a picture of Imelda, Coco as a baby, and he sat, his face had been ripped out and his guitar had been folded out of view. His photo must have been somewhere else, somewhere hidden. He went searching for some kind of hidden candle light.

In a back part of the hacienda was the xolo dog again, laying contentedly on the ground. It perked up at seeing Héctor and wagged its tail, he leaned down to the dog, who suddenly jumped up and licked him in the face. He grimaced, leaning away, but still smiled, asking where the hidden ofrenda was. The dog turned and trotted up a haphazardly stacked pile of bricks next to the building, one of them slipping out from under its foot, but the dog payed no mind as it hopped on a tree branch and snuck through the leaves. The dog waited for him as he followed after and pushed his way through the branches of the tree onto a small rooftop, the dog pushed aside a large sign shaped like a shoe to reveal a hidden opening.

“Ey, gracias amigo,” He said, crawling into the opening after the dog.

Inside was a dark, dusty attic; the soft glow around him being one of the few sources of light in the room. In the back, though, was the unmistakable flicker of candles, hidden behind a heavy cloth hung up like a curtain. Héctor crawled over to it and just about gagged when he revealed the absolute _shrine_ to Ernesto de la Cruz. Record albums, strings of papel picados with Ernesto’s name and face punched into them, announcement flyers of his performances, and a handful of worn out figurines of either Ernesto or the guitar were spread across shelves on the wall. Slightly crushed marigolds and candles were everywhere, only half of them lit, letting in just enough light for him to see everything.

In the center though, was the picture of him and Ernesto, the one that had allowed him to cross over the bridge and see his daughter. He brushed his fingers over the glass in a quiet memory of the event. In front of the picture was a small offering of a couple of cookies on a chipped plate. Héctor sighed, he couldn’t be mad at the kid, he didn’t know. He calmly took the offering and smiled as they made a glowing copy of themselves. The cookies were a little stale, he could tell by the way they felt, but he was grateful for them none the less. He put the offerings into the pouch tied to his hip gently, so as to not crush them, before noticing the letter tucked behind the picture on Ernesto’s side of the picture. In large, childish letters was Ernesto’s name written on the front, Héctor peeked to the other side of the picture and was needless to say, disappointed to not find a letter also addressed to him.

He sat back and observed the space more, an old TV sat, quiet and black, with a small stack of VCR’s around it, most of them were Ernesto de la Cruz movies. Behind him was half of what looked to be a guitar, bits and pieces scattered around it and a little book about guitars with a library card sticking out of it sat on the floor nearby. What really caught Héctor’s sight though, was the mess of papers and pencils to his right. He peeked over at the papers and saw half a letter written out in neater, though still childish, handwriting.

It started with a “dear” but was immediately followed with question marks. Miguel didn’t know who he was writing to, but reading through the letter, Héctor realized that Miguel was writing to _him_. The letter mostly asked about Ernesto, and was only half finished with sentences messily crossed out, but it was for him none the less.

Héctor smiled as he crawled out of the stuffy area, drawing back the cloth to hide Miguel’s little secret and sitting out on the little roof. The dog followed and laid by his side as he dangled his legs over the side and took a breath of fresh air. From where he sat, he could easily hear the voices of his family as they talked and shared stories all while being hidden from view. He pulled out one of the cookies and took a bite, absentmindedly running his hand over the dog’s head and just listening.

Despite the cookie being stale, Héctor felt like it was the most delicious thing he had ever tasted. Better than any fine dining in both the Land of the Living and the Land of the Dead, because it was for him, it was from his family and it was for him. He finished it with a smile and just listened.

For about an hour Héctor sat out there. When his dead family finally left, he emerged from his hiding spot and came back to the courtyard, sitting next to Coco and quietly talking to her while they watched the rest of the family clean up the courtyard. Coco was wheeled off to her room and Héctor took to inspecting the hacienda a little more until he knew that she was finally alone in the bedroom and he could sing his song for her, just for her.

He entered the dim room, sitting on the wheel chair next to her bed and turning towards her. She looked to be asleep, but with her wrinkles she honestly looked asleep when she was at the table. He took a deep breath and sang, it had been so long since he sang his song to her and he couldn’t help but feel like he was singing it to her for the first time again. By the last note, he felt calm, having finally found her and sang his song for her at least one last time.

“Good night Papá,” Coco responded once the song was done, alerting him that she had been awake.

He kneeled beside her and ran his hand through her hair, “Goodnight Coco,” He whispered, giving her a kiss in the forehead before leaving the room.

He wandered across the courtyard in the moonlight to where he knew his great, great grandsons’ room was. Inside, Miguel and his other great, great grandson whom he didn’t quite catch the name of lay in separate beds on opposite sides of the room. Héctor walked over to Miguel’s side, kneeling down next to his bed, he affectionately ran a hand through the boy’s hair like he had with Coco.

“Thank you,” He whispered.Miguel shifted in his bed, pushing his face further into his pillow, telling Héctor that he was already asleep. He chuckled and made his way back to the marigold bridge, the night well spent.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Cover title by Me!](http://eurazba.tumblr.com/post/173214495295/i-made-another-fanfic-title-cover-go-read-shaken)
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> [Story art also by Me!](http://eurazba.tumblr.com/post/173812799700/despite-the-cookie-being-stale-h%C3%A9ctor-felt-like)


	2. When its Good, it's So Good

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I stayed up until 2am trying to finish chapter 3 (I didn’t quite lol), but man it took everything in my power not to just post this chapter right then and there with the logic of “Technically its Tuesday” and actually go to sleep. Anyways, enjoy!

When he had come back from the land of the living he went to Chicharrón, split his other cookie with him, and blabbered to his friend about his visit all night. Chicharrón never once interrupted him.

Over the course of the year Héctor had felt stronger, brighter, better. His bones were a little whiter and he stood straighter.

He felt _remembered_.

It was such a wonderful feeling, being remembered again, Coco must have been telling stories about him to Miguel, and maybe others in the family.

When the next Dia de los Muertos came Héctor felt ready for it. He had his jacket and clothes patched up by his seamstress friend for the first time in years and actually tried to clean and groom himself for the visit. In the pouch on his hip, a tiny notebook with only a handful of pages left and worn out pencil that had nearly been sharpened to its very end sat, ready to write down family names and keep track of everyone. Undeniably, there was that fear in the back of his head, that his photo wouldn’t be put up again, that last year was just a spoof, but he approached the Santa Cecelia gate none the less. He stood before the machine, smiling sheepishly before it, his nerves shot as he waited for the verdict.

That wonderful dinging happened again.

“Your photo is on your great, great grandson’s ofrenda,” The gatekeeper smiled at him, happy to see Héctor’s luck on the rise, “Have a wonderful visit!”

He eagerly thanked her and made his way to the bridge, practically skipping across it. Only a handful of other skeletons were making their way to Santa Cecelia this early, Héctor wanted to be there as soon as possible. He easily followed the marigold path to the hacienda, remembering where to go from last year and entered the courtyard without caution. Like last year, people hustled and bustled about, though more of them were in the kitchen putting the final touches on the night’s feast.

Héctor wandered around, looking for Coco and noting the differences in everyone from last year. The kids were a bit taller, his other great, great grandson having gone through a growth spurt over the year, and the adults a bit older, he noted one woman, one of Miguel’s tía’s if he remembered correctly, was pregnant, meaning more great, great grandchildren. He finally found Coco in the ofrenda room sitting quietly by herself. She greeted him softly, knowing he was there, and he greeted her back. He sat next to her a prattled on about whatever he was thinking, just wanting to talk to her, tell her everything that had happened while they had been apart.

When she was wheeled over to the dinner table he followed and sat near, listening to the conversation and stories shared, and Miguel quietly asking Coco if her papá was here again. Héctor scribbled down names and family relations in the notebook until he heard Imelda’s voice and wandered off to Miguel’s hidden ofrenda, curious as to what was there this year.

More candles were lit this time when he visited the ofrenda; some Ernesto de la Cruz trading cards had joined the collection, along with a few more records. The guitar from last year was mostly complete now, only missing one string. Héctor realized that Miguel had been building it from scratch, and he was honestly impressed by the craftsmanship, with a gentle touch, it was probably playable. On the ofrenda there was an offering of a tiny sugar skull and sweet bread, again slightly stale but Héctor was happy to have it. Behind the picture on his side, he noticed a letter. It was the same size as the one on Ernesto’s side of the picture, but in smaller, neater handwriting Héctor saw that it was addressed to him!

It took everything in his power not to rip the letter open and pour over it. Instead, he grabbed it calmly with the food offerings and gently opened it, using the light of the candles to read.

It started with “Papá Hector” this time, Miguel knew his name! And continued on with Miguel asking about Ernesto, but Héctor noted that it was less than in his first attempt at the letter. Miguel talked about his Mamá Coco and how he managed to get her to share little stories about Héctor throughout the year so Miguel could know more about him, and how they would hum quiet tunes behind closed doors together. It was like a secret the two of them shared. He then continued on to say that he wanted to be a musician, just like Ernesto and Héctor, but it was hard with the family’s distaste for any kind of music. Héctor’s heart went out to his great, great grandson as he remembered his own parent’s disagreement with him pursuing music. The last part of the letter, however, filled Héctor with a great sadness. It asked why Héctor left his family, why he never came back, why he had to choose music over his family, couldn’t he have both? Why did he have to pick sides?

Héctor wished he could talk to Miguel, explain everything that happened, how he felt. Instead he just sighed sadly, folding up the letter with careful hands and putting it in the inner pocket of his jacket. He exited the attic and sat down on the little roof again with the xolo dog from last year at his  side, listening to his family talk and saving his offerings for later.

When his dead family left, Hector re-entered the courtyard, sitting with Coco again and watching the rest of the family clean up. However, when Coco was wheeled off to her bedroom, Héctor headed back to the hidden ofrenda and grabbed a glowing copy of the guitar Miguel made. He had trouble tuning it was first, with nails instead of proper pegs that slipped through his bony fingers when he tried to twist them, but Héctor found that the tools next to the guitar helped him in getting a grip.

He went to Coco’s room, quiet and alone, and played her the song he wrote, strumming the guitar along with his words and changing the notes slightly to accommodate for the missing guitar string. It was easier this time, singing his song for Coco, and he was left with the same content feeling as last year. She didn’t say goodbye to him this time, though, probably having already fallen asleep. He headed to Miguel’s and his primo’s room and gave him another “thank you”, returning the guitar and heading back to the Land of the Dead, offerings in hand and letter by his heart.

* * *

 

Third times the charm and Héctor felt on top of the world when the face scanning machine happily dinged for the third year in a row, allowing him to cross over the bridge. Héctor cheerfully made his way across the bridge _alone_ once again; throughout the year, he had considered telling Imelda about his visits, trying to reconcile after so many years. But he could never manage to bring up the nerve to do so. She had been adamant about them staying apart for the rest of their days in the Land of the Dead, about him having no contact with the family whatsoever. He was honestly scared that she would try and prevent him from visiting the family. So he went on his own, not really feeling alone knowing that Coco and Miguel would be waiting for him at the very least.

He sat with his living family, this time gushing over the two new baby great, great, grandsons, and noticing how Coco was worrisomely quiet, needing help managing a task a simple as eating. This may be last year she had, it was a sad thought, but once she passed he would be able to talk with her again, and they could spend their time in the Land of the Dead, together. His dead family came and he hid. At least, he could hope that he would be able to get close enough to spend time with Coco when she passed. He wandered over to Miguel’s hidden ofrenda.

The guitar he had been working on was complete, the final string having been added at some point and some pieces having been replaced and refurbished. The pile of VHS tapes had been taken apart, scissors and tape sitting next to them and a blank VHS tape with the words “Best of De la Cruz” scribbled on its side in marker. Héctor smiled in amusement before turning to the photo in the center of the ofrenda. The letters from before remained in their place, unchanging. An offering of a tamale, a note under the plate it was placed on informed him that the Tamale was made by Miguel’s abuelita, an apple, and another little sugar skull sat in front of the picture.

Héctor was tempted to take the guitar out with him, to strum a little and let the music fill him up as he listened to the family talk, but the risk of being heard by his dead family was too great. Instead, he sat out with the xolo dog by his side and tapped quiet rhythms into the metal rooftop, wondering whose alebrije this was. He wanted to believe that it was his, but he only ever saw it when he was in the Land of the Living, and none of his dead family had a spirit guide aside from Imelda’s frightening Pepita. The dog had to be with someone living and Héctor would bet his left fibula that it was either Coco or Miguel’s.

At the end of the feast his dead family left, and Héctor went back to grab the guitar from the hideout, watching and waiting in the courtyard for Coco to be alone so he could play his song for her. It was easier to play and sing a third time, with all the strings on the guitar this time and song filling him with a warm affection instead of regretful nausea like it had for decades. It was becoming Coco’s song again, but not only hers, when Héctor played, he couldn’t help but think about Miguel as well. This song was just as much his as it was Coco’s, for he allowed Héctor to play it for her again. Bidding Coco goodnight, Héctor crossed the court yard to his great-great grandsons’ room, intent on playing the song for Miguel as well.

Miguel had yet to go to sleep, instead, lying on his side in bed and staring intently at his primo across the room. Héctor only managed to get a couple lines into the song before Miguel suddenly got up from his bed, heading out the door still clad in luchador themed pajamas. Héctor followed curiously after as Miguel took silent footsteps across the courtyard and to the side of the hacienda, checking over his shoulder every few seconds to see in anyone was following him but unaware of Héctor right behind him.

He carefully climbed up the stack of bricks without so much as a sound, Héctor watched worriedly as they wobbled beneath him, threatening to spill over. But Miguel got onto the roof without a problem and snuck into his secret hideaway, Héctor squeezing in right after him. The hidden ofrenda was revealed to the rest of the dusty attic, filling the area with a soft light. Miguel relit one of the candles right next to the framed picture before grabbing his guitar and tuning it. Héctor sat next to him before the ofrenda, curious to see what he would do.

“Papá Héctor,” Héctor straightened at his name, “Señor De la Cruz,” he deflated, “I don’t know if either of you are still here, I know its kind of late…” Miguel trailed off, quiet and nervous, “But if you are still here, I wanted to play a song for you.” Héctor perked up, leaning forward in anticipation, “I want to be a musician, just like you two, so I’ve been practicing with my guitar, I don’t have a teacher and have to practice in secret so…” Miguel trailed off again, shy by the explanation of his lack of experience, but still managing to jump into the song.

It wasn’t a “De la Cruz” song like Héctor expected it to be; instead it was a much quieter, gentler song. Miguel concentrated on his fingers as they played the guitar, his tongue sticking out the side of his mouth in an amusing way. The song had words Héctor recalled, and was normally accompanied by an accordion, but Miguel just gently hummed along, probably worried about being too loud and getting caught. For a kid with no teacher and who had only been practicing for a year or two in secret, he was actually pretty good, his fingers would occasionally miss a note but he didn’t let the mistakes stop him as he played through them. Though what was best, was the way Miguel played the song from his heart. He seemed to easily drift into the music and let it carry him off, just like Héctor would when he was young.

The last note hung in the air and Miguel sighed, a small smile on his face. Héctor couldn’t wipe the grin off his face either as he put his hand on Miguel’s shoulders.

“I’m proud of you,” He whispered even though Miguel couldn’t hear him, because he was, he really was.

“Good night,” Miguel gave a light bow before heading back to his bed.

Héctor was about to leave as well, but he stared at the guitar in his hands. Last year he left without it, taking the extra care to put its copy back in the same place in the Land of the Living even, but now, he wasn’t so sure. He wanted to keep it. Not necessarily to play it, he couldn’t really imagine himself playing and singing outside of the holiday as of yet, but more so just to have as a way to connect him to the music, to Miguel, to his family. Whether he would play it before the next holiday was up to him, but he would have it none the less. Slowly he got up and left, guitar in hand. Héctor returned to the Land of the Dead, humming the tune Miguel played for him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More art by [Me](http://eurazba.tumblr.com/post/174650412770/h%C3%A9ctor-followed-curiously-after-as-miguel-took)
> 
> Yay! Now, if I were to continue this I would go into the canon of the movie and its gets a bit boring as we follow the canon of the movie pretty close with this slight universe alteration, but there would be some sweet moments between Miguel and Héctor. Would you want to read it?


	3. I Could do About Anything

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y’all over here givin’ me this nicest comments I am sobbing I feel so validated in the chili’s tonight, but y’all also over here with BETTER IDEAS for this story than what I had omg. 
> 
> Also I drew a little title cover for this fic ('cause I still also post on FF.net) so y'all can check that out if ya want.  
> http://eurazba.tumblr.com/post/173214495295/i-made-another-fanfic-title-cover-go-read-shaken
> 
> Anyways, we’ve now entered the point where the movie starts, bear with me for this chapter (the other ones are better).

Miguel couldn’t believe his luck this holiday, not only was he caught shining shoes at the plaza by his family, but they had seen him shining a _mariachi’s_ shoes of all things and holding his guitar.

He only half listened to the scolding from his family, having heard it all before. But when he tried to convince them to let him go to the music competition, reworded as a “talent” competition, it backfired and he ended up being dragged to the ofrenda room. He listened to his abuelita tell him things he already knew about the holiday, and felt defensive when she shushed him about merely mentioning his great, great grandfather’s existence, even though _she_ was the one to bring him up first. All the more reason why the silly little idea he had last month to tell the family about Papá Héctor and his stories wouldn’t have worked. What could he tell them when they would not listen?

Mamá Coco was suddenly distraught by the mention of her father, asking if he was home. She must have forgotten how she said that her papá was home just a few years ago at Dia de los Muertos. It was a sad thought for Miguel, but he had an opening to sneak away when his abuelita turned to comfort her and he took it.

In the hideout, Miguel drew the final details of Ernesto’s signature guitar onto his own with a sharpie, like he had for the past couple of months (Miguel wasn’t much of an artist in drawing sense, it was a slow process) when he was startled by Dante entering the space. He shrugged off his sudden tenseness and beckoned the dog in. Adding the detail of the skeleton nose to the top of the guitar and quickly adjusting the makeshift pegs, no matter what he did they couldn’t hold their place for more than a day or two. With a strum he smiled at the sound, all tuned up.

“Perfecto,” He confirmed to Dante, who happily jumped forward and licked him. Miguel pushed him away with a laugh before crawling over to his shrine.

His collecting had grown well, more albums than he could have ever imagined before were in his possession, and he had since found a nicer frame to contain the photo of his Papá Héctor and De la Cruz. He looked at it with a smile.

“They just don’t understand,” he sighed to the picture.

He had gotten used to talking to them through the picture, using it as a way to vent about his family’s opinion on music. His Papá Héctor and De la Cruz could understand, they were musicians too, they had to understand, at least a little.

He pushed the VHS he had pieced together of De la Cruz’s best moments into the player and switched on the TV, watching as the movie clips and interview pieces of De la Cruz came into view. He calmly played along with his guitar. Music was always able to calm him down and lift his spirits, no matter how bad the day.

He watched the TV closely as he played and imitated the movement of De la Cruz’s fingers on his guitar, Miguel found himself lost in the music once again. He closed his eyes and played, listening to De la Cruz’s words and taking each of them with a grain of thought, they fluttered open again when he reached the end of his little song and watched the clip of one of De la Cruz’s many interviews. He recited the words in time with De la Cruz, having memorized it well.

Make his dream come true, that was right. De la Cruz may have been the one to inspire him to be a musician, and Papá Héctor was the familial connection that he swore helped guide him to music, but he was the only one who could act to make his dream come true. _He_ was the one who had to play in the plaza to become a proper musician. He turned to Dante.

“No more hiding Dante,” He eagerly told the dog, who perked up at his energy, “I’m gonna play in Mariachi Plaza if it _kills_ me!”

They skittered across the rooftop, careful not to make noise or be seen. When he slid down the stack of leather with Dante though, he found his family. They were just around the corner, and then at his other side coming closer and closer, almost as if they were waiting to catch him. He held his guitar close to his body and worriedly tried to sneak out of their view. If they saw him holding a guitar, they would freak out and undoubtedly try to stop him. He managed to slip into the ofrenda room unseen, but his family’s voices were getting closer, he was going to get caught. Quickly, without thought, he shoved the guitar and Dante under the cloth of the ofrenda and tried to look as inconspicuous as possible as he jerked around at his parent’s and abuelita’s presence.

“Nothing!” He quickly said, shoving his hands in his pockets, trying to hide the nervousness in his smile and the shaking of his hands.

They all gathered around him looking excited. Miguel couldn’t hide his suspicion, but it was immediately replaced by shock when they revealed that they wanted him to begin working in the shoe shop. Working in the shop meant he wouldn’t go out into town as much, he wouldn’t have as much time to practice playing his guitar. _I must be cursed!_ Miguel decided as he quickly tried to defend himself, change their minds.

“But, what if I’m no good at making shoes?” He asked, knowing that he didn’t really care if he was good at making shoes, but his family seemed to buy it…

And twist it in the wrong direction.

“Ay, Miguel, you have your family to guide you,” his father said, spinning him around and gesturing to the ofrenda. Miguel’s eyes went straight to ripped picture of his Papá Héctor, his family was guiding him to be a musician, he was _sure_ of it, “You are a Rivera, and a Rivera is…”

“…A shoemaker, through and through.” He sighed, picking up on the prompt to finish the little saying.

They ignored the reluctance in his voice and cheered, leaving the ofrenda room with his father proclaiming to make a toast while his mother gave him a little touch of affection and his abuelita smothered him in it. He gave them all a weak smile that fell away the moment he was out of their view.

But he didn’t have a moment to dwell on his misfortune as he turned to the ofrenda and saw Dante lapping the offerings.

“Dante!” He screeched, running over to the dog and trying to pull him off when he didn’t stop.

Miguel couldn’t believe his luck! If his family saw that the street dog he kept had taken from their ofrenda they would freak out almost as much as if they found out that he played music. He pulled and pulled, the dog struggling in his arms and holding onto the cloth as much as he could. With one last jerk, he and Dante came free, rolling backwards as the dish left out crashed to the floor and the ofrenda wobbled precariously. The picture of his Mamá Imelda, Mamá Coco, and Papá Héctor moved back and forth before falling over completely, shattering as it hit the ground.

Miguel gasped, peeking behind him to see if anyone heard him before crawling over to the picture and worriedly grabbing it to wipe off the broken glass. His family was going to kill him! The photo looked fine upon inspection, but then, something else.

Behind the photo was, more photo. An extra piece had been folded back so it couldn’t be seen in the frame. Miguel slowly opened it to see none other than Ernesto De la Cruz’s guitar in his great, great grandfather’s hand.

That… didn’t make sense, Ernesto De la Cruz’s guitar was actually Papá Héctor’s? …Or maybe it did make sense, if they played together, then maybe they shared the guitar? No, no. Was Miguel even sure that this was _the_ guitar?

“Papá, papá,” Mamá Coco said quietly behind him pointing at the picture, he almost forgot she was there.

“Is… is Ernesto De la Cruz’s guitar actually Papá Héctor’s?” He asked her, holding up the picture for her.

She just repeated her little mantra, continuing to point at Papá Héctor in the picture. Miguel frowned, with the way her memory had been going lately, she probably wouldn’t be able to tell him more. He’d have to figure this out on his own. He gave her a quick kiss on the cheek before rushing off to his hideout, guitar close to him and photo in hand. He was able to sneak around his family and into the hideout without problem, crawling to his shrine and grabbing one of his De la Cruz albums off the wall. He held up the two pictures next to each other to compare the guitars.

They matched.

They _matched!_

Wait, wait, what did this mean? Did Papá Héctor give his guitar to Ernesto De la Cruz? But why would he do that if he was the one using it? And he had the picture in the family photo, it had to be something significant to him. Unless…

…Unless it was a passing gift? The only reason Miguel could think of why his Papá Héctor would give De la Cruz something as special as a guitar like this was if he had died. And… Ernesto was a solo act for as far as anyone ever knew, when he had begun to rise to fame with his first song, he had the guitar with him. Ernesto never mentioned Papá Héctor in any of his interviews, if his Papá Héctor had died, if he had died _with_ Ernesto when they played music… It must have been hard for Ernesto to talk about his dead friend.

Admittedly, Miguel’s logic was based on a lot of speculation, but he couldn’t help but hope. Based on the years that De la Cruz started to become known, and if his Papá Héctor was a similar age to his Mamá Imelda, he couldn’t have been more than 20-some-odd years old.

Papá Héctor hadn’t left forever, he had died!

He could have returned, he had probably only been gone for a few years and died before he could return. It was wishful thinking, he’d admit. But, with this revelation, music couldn’t possibly be _that_ bad! Not like the way his family made it out to be. He stuffed the family photo into his pocket and grabbed his guitar, shuffling out of the hideout and onto the roof. He needed to explain everything that he had learned to his family, surely with this information, they could understand now. _Someone_ had to understand. Then he could play in Mariachi Plaza!

He was seen as soon as he emerged from the hideout.

“Miguel? What are you doing up there! It’s dangerous!” His abuelita shrieked, Miguel instinctively flinched. Abuelita probably wasn’t the best person to explain it to first though, “Wha-What are you doing with that-that _guitar_!”

The rest of the family was quick to follow his abuelita’s yelling. Each seeing him and gasping at the guitar in his hands. He froze under their looks; this was going to be harder than he thought.

“What are you doing up there?”

“Miguel get down!”

“Where did you get that guitar?!”

“Mamá Coco’s papá hadn’t left the family forever! He had died!” Miguel managed to say.

“What?!”

“I-I’m going to be a musician!” He insisted, trying to find his voice.

Everyone scrambled and yelled louder at the bold claim. His papá and primo Abel were quick to act, climbing up the roof to get him down and finding the hideout he still had his leg in. His abuelita scolded him once he was back on the ground, he shrunk into himself in response, rooted to where he was as they examined the hideout. It was a matter of seconds before they found his shrine and quickly grabbed the record player, a handful of records, figurines, and the photo of Papá Héctor and Ernesto De la Cruz from his shrine. Able dumped them on the ground rather unceremoniously, Miguel flinching when he heard the sound of many things breaking at the impact.

“You keep secrets from your own family?!” His abuelita asked in astonishment at the items.

Everyone else chimed in, blaming the time he spent in the plaza, saying he was filled with fantasies.

“It’s not a fantasy!” Miguel retorted.

He caught sight of the broken picture frame and managed to quickly swipe the photo up without cutting himself and held it out with the ripped photo from the ofrenda.

“Mamá Coco’s papá had died before he could come home,” Miguel tried to explain what he had learned before anyone could stop or try to correct him, his words tumbled over each other, “He played with Ernesto De la Cruz, the greatest musician of all time! This was his guitar, it’s the same guitar that De la Cruz plays, he left the guitar to De la Cruz when he died,” He held out the picture from the ofrenda for his papá to examine, having skipped the detail that he didn’t actually know how true the things that he was saying were, just going on a gut feeling, “Papá Héctor had died before he could come back home. Music can’t be all that bad, just look at how his amigo De la Cruz turned out! A-and _I’m_ going to be a musician, just like them!”

There were curious murmurs at the use of Papá Héctor’s name, others peeking over Miguel’s papá’s shoulders to look at the picture of Papá Héctor in curiosity. Like Miguel, none of them had ever actually heard his name before or knew what he looked like. Miguel wasn’t even sure if his Abuelita knew.

“That doesn’t forgive the fact that he still left his family in the first place, I’m not letting my son have a future like that,” his papá said.

“But Papá, you said my family would guide me, well Papá Héctor is my family, I’m supposed to play music!” Miguel tried to defend himself.

“Never! That’s man’s music was a curse!” His abuelita shrieked.

“And if what you’re saying is true, then he died playing music!” Miguel’s prima Rosa added.

Miguel tried to hide the way his eyes rolled at his prima’s comment, “If you would just-”

His family was quick to interrupt him thought, telling him to stop arguing and listen to them.

“J-just listen to me play,” Miguel insisted, grabbing the guitar and beginning to strum a tune.

His abuelita was quick to act, snatching the guitar out of his hands so fast Miguel almost spun in a complete circle.

“You want to end up like that man?!” She asked, “Forgotten?”

Papá Héctor wasn’t forgotten, _Miguel_ remembered him.

“Left off your family’s ofrenda?!” She continued.

“I don’t care if I’m on some stupid ofrenda!” Miguel yelled back in a fit of anger.

His family gasped out and Miguel hiked up his shoulders, feeling even more defensive. He tried to tell them what he learned, but they weren’t listening. What did they know?!

He caught the dangerous glint in his abuelita’s eyes as she looked at the guitar. She lifted it and he quickly realized with panic what she was going to do with it. He barely had a moment to yell for her to stop, barely hearing his papá yell out too, before she slammed it into the ground. The base quickly broke and wood splintered everywhere, spreading in a horrifying, murderous circle around the impact point. All feeling was suddenly gone from Miguel as he watched her smash the guitar into the ground a few more times. She tossed aside the broken neck and loose strings as if it were an old sock.

“There,” she said with satisfaction, wiping her hands against her apron, “No guitar, no music.”

His guitar, his handmade guitar. The one that he had been scrounging pieces together for and painstakingly building for nearly two years. The one he had learned how to play on. The guitar he had saved nearly every peso he earned just to buy the last string he needed. He worked _so_ hard on that guitar, it meant the world to him, and she just… just _destroyed_ it in a matter of seconds?! Didn’t she know how hard he was worked on it?! Didn’t any of them know how much it meant to him?! How much music meant to him?!

Tears welled up in his eyes as he stared hard at the broken guitar, his abuelita’s hand was suddenly on the side of his face and he realized how close she was now.

“Ay, m’ijo come, you’ll feel better after you eat with your family,” she said softly.

But it did little to console him. No, in fact, her words struck a chord with him, and he snapped.

“I don’t want to be in this family!” He yelled, jerking out of his abuelita’s touch and swiping the pictures out of his father’s hand.

He turned and ran out the courtyard. Ignoring his family as they yelled for him and running as fast as his legs could take him, desperately trying to wipe the tears out of his eyes while he did so. He was going to the plaza, he was _going_ to play.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pbbbth, Miguel’s out here making some really big leaps in logic. It was rather hard to write this scene already knowing all the big twists, but I hope it seems somewhat logical. Ch 4 will be posted next Tuesday!


	4. When it's Bad, it's So Bad

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To the person who asked, this fic is looking to be about 10 – 11 chapters long with each chapter being about 2,000 – 4,000 words long.  
> Now *Me rubbing my grubby mitts together* I get to be mean to Héctor. >:3c

_This is a dumb idea,_ Miguel thought as he sat in De le Cruz’s mausoleum, on top of his _tomb_.  _A dumb, dumb, dumb idea_.

But no one was willing to help him, no one was willing lend him a guitar or anything, and he couldn’t find that nice Mariachi from this morning. No one was even willing to take pity on him, this was the only idea he had.

He sat before the guitar, staring completely awestruck at it’s beautiful craftsmanship. This couldn’t be that bad, he was only borrowing the guitar for the night to play in the plaza. And it was his great, great grandfather’s guitar before it had become De la Cruz’s, so technically by some rule of inheritance or whatever, he should be allowed to use the guitar. He could feel it calling to him, he was sure.

Nevertheless, he tried to tell his reasons to De la Cruz, just in case he was there and wasn’t happy about what he was seeing.

“Señor De la Cruz, I-I’m Miguel,” he said cautiously. He eyed the painting of De la Cruz, hands floating over the guitar ready to pick it up, “Your amigo Héctor? The one who left you this guitar? He was my great, great grandfather. Please don’t be mad, but I need to borrow this.”

He gently lifted the instrument off the pegs, feeling lightheaded as he actually held it in his hands. He was really here, holding what was probably the most famous guitar in all of Mexico. A magical feeling began creeping around him.

“My family thinks music is a curse, I know that’s not true, and you must know that too. They don’t understand, but I know you and Papá Héctor would. I know you would have told me to “Seize my moment,” and Papá Héctor would have said something just as encouraging,” Miguel continued to explain, crawling off the tomb, “S-so if it’s alright, I’m going to play in the plaza, just like you did. I’m going to be a musician, just like you two!”

In a moment of excitement, Miguel strummed the guitar, feeling a wave of joy flow over him and a burst of that magical feeling come from his fingertips at the chord he played.

“It’s gone!”

Miguel jerked down in fear.

“Someone stole De la Cruz’s guitar!”

 _Oh no_.

* * *

 

Héctor strode up to the line for the Santa Cecelia gate confidently. He was later than previous years, sure, having gotten caught up in helping out Ceci with her preparations for the Sunrise Spectacular for so long that he didn’t realize what time it was, but that was okay, he had plenty of years ahead where he could be on time.

He felt great! After three years of getting to cross the bridge he didn’t feel a string of doubt for this year. He even went so far as to actually replace his jacket, something he hadn’t even attempted for decades since it had started to fall apart. The patches just couldn’t hold it together anymore and he wanted to look nice, for the holiday and for everyone else that saw him. Yes, look! He was remembered, just like all of them!

Unfortunately, he had already managed to rip half of the right sleeve just a month ago after stalking around the Rivera residence for too long in attempt to see if Coco had passed when he got in a scuffle with Pepita. The missing section of sleeve barely showed off the tape still wrapped around his bone, he wasn’t sure if he could, or _should_ actually take it off yet. But Ceci was happy to patch the jacket up for him after he’d stopped “borrowing” (he could never manage to get things back to her or any others that he would borrow from) clothes and costumes for disguises. She even added a nice ribbon to his hat; he should look at getting some of the weaving fixed on it.

Having to take care of yourself was somewhat difficult after so many years of not trying, but he had a reason to do it now, so he’d try.

Heck, if today went well, he’d probably go down to the department of family reunions and add new living family members to his reunion list, and then try to open a P.O. Box so he could actually receive notice when they passed. The only person on his list who was still alive was Coco, and without a permanent address or even just a P.O. Box, the department wouldn’t be able to notify him when she passed. Nearly forgotten people didn’t get to be reunited with recently passed family.

But he was remembered! His picture was being put up on the ofrenda, by Miguel at the very least, and the least he could do in return was actually add the boy’s name to his reunion list.

The line moved forward, breaking him from his train of thought as he followed. He was excited to see the whole family again, to see Coco and Miguel. Wondering how the boy must have grown over the year, he must have improved his guitar skills as well. Héctor silently hoped that Miguel would play another song for him as he stepped towards the face-scanning machine. He smiled brightly for it, waiting for the cheerful ding.

A terrible, horrible buzz came from the machine, and like a traumatic memory, Héctor felt everything stop. The silence that followed the buzz was deafening.

“…I- …I’m sorry Héctor, but, no one put up your photo this year,” the gatekeeper said softly, looking at the screen before her.

Héctor felt a twist deep in his chest, one that was all too familiar from years and years past, all at once his head spun with all the terrible possibilities of what could have happened, of what he’d have to do for the night to cross that bridge. How quickly old anxieties were able to come back at the slightest note of trouble.

“What? No, no, no, no that can’t be right. My photo was up last year,” he quickly said.

He almost climbed over to see the screen, but he kept rooted his spot, quickly calculating in his head how he would sneak past the guards out of habit. If he climbed over, he wouldn’t be able to easily get out of the gate booth, he would be trapped and get caught. He needed to be in the most open spot in order to get a running head start. First, however, was to see how to talk his way through the problem.

“I’m sorry but no one put up your photo this year,” The gatekeeper repeated with a shake of her head. 

“My photo was up _last year_ ,” he repeated, “I-It’s been up for the past _three_ _years_!”

“I know, and I’m sorry bu-”

“Try it again,” he interrupted.

“What?”

“Try it again, please,” Héctor asked, feeling desperate, “Maybe he had a late start and only put the photo up just now.”

He looked pleadingly at her, she sighed and gestured for him to look back up at the machine so they could try again. He did quickly and tried to imitate the smile from his wedding photo as closely as he could.

It made a sharp buzz once again.

“…I’m sorry Héctor, but your photo hasn’t been put up, you can’t cross,” The gatekeeper tried reasoning with him, “Another lady had the same problem earlier, you can go to the Department of Family Reunions and talk to them, they should be able to help you figure out why this is happening.”

Héctor barely heard her over the wave of panic and anger that went over him. _The Department of Family Reunions?_ Oh yeah, _sure_ , he had dealt with them for decades and they had never been able to help him, only speculate on why his picture was never put up. And they always told him to wait and try again the next year, at least until it became evident that no one was probably ever going to put his photo up.

Something deep in him knew this couldn’t have lasted _forever,_ but he had been hopeful, _too_ hopeful. And he probably knew _why_ his photo wasn’t put up this year, but he didn’t want to think about it. No, he just wanted to see his family, was that so _wrong_?

“You know what?” He said, leaning back smoothly and slipping a lopsided grin on his face, “These machines are so old, you said someone else had the same problem earlier? They’re probably malfunctioning, I bet you my great, great grandson put my photo up and this old thing couldn’t find it. So I’m just going to slip across an-”

He bolted before he could finish his sentence, jumping around the guard with ease and running for the marigold bridge. His photo had to be up, it had to! That stupid machine wasn’t going to tell him that he couldn’t see his family again.

With the first step, he sunk into the petals up to his knees and continued to sink as he shuffled forward. Skeletons nearby had all jumped back, gasping and watching him in horror as he sunk further and further down into the marigold bridge, barely making it a few feet before he found himself stuck. A horrible twinge of despair ripped through his chest, Miguel really _hadn’t_ put his photo up.

What happened? Was Miguel okay?

Two pairs of hands were suddenly wrapped around his arms as he was hoisted up and out of the marigold petals. Two familiar guards he had more than his fair share of encounters with over the years pulled him away from the bridge.

“Off to the station we go,” one guard said with a sigh, it had been three years since they had done this but everything about the procedures was all too familiar.

“C’mon I was just trying to see my family! Is that such a crime?!” He tried to argue with them, causing a scene, because what else could he really do? “My photo was up last year! It has been for the past three years!”

“No photo on the ofrenda _this_ year, no crossing over the bridge,” The other guard said calmly, too calm for Héctor’s situation and how he felt.

“…Fine, fine! Who even _cares_? ...Dumb flower bridge!” He cursed the bridge as he was hauled away.

This was going to be a long night.

* * *

 

At the station, he sat at a little desk across from a bored and tired officer who kept him waiting for _30 minutes_ even though there was _no one_ else here. They looked over a form and read off Héctor’s misconducts as he tried to wipe off all of the dumb little petals stuck to him.

“Fleeing an officer, disturbing the peace, and attempting to cross the bridge without proper clearance… Is there anything else I’m missing?” They asked, giving him a look.

Héctor’s file, which had been following him since he had come to the Land of the Dead, sat next to the officer on his desk, bulging with papers of disturbances, warnings, and all sorts of other information about what he had done over the years while in the Land of the Dead. Majority of the files for others had been converted over to the computers over the years for convenience’s sake, but those who were already considered nearly forgotten were left in their little paper files, waiting to eventually fade off the shelves. Héctor’s file was also among one of the thickest files for a single skeleton, too much of a hassle converting everything into an electronic form. The officer’s eyes had just about popped out of their socket when they came to their desk to find it and Héctor sitting there waiting with the guards, the officer must be someone new.

“Ah, yes, you’re missing the “overall great guy who’s getting gypped out of seeing his family by a demeaning, non-sentient flower bridge”,” Héctor answered casually pointing to a random part of the officer’s form that he couldn’t see.

They stared at him flatly. Not much of a joker evidentially.

“Look, my photo was up _last year_ , surely there must be some kind of mistake?” Héctor said, knowing that he was lying to himself but not wanting to believe that his time of getting to visit his living family was cut short so quickly.

“Señor, I know it must be hard suddenly not getting to cross the bridge,” The officer said glancing in the folder where it must have been recorded that he had been able to cross over for the past 3 years, “But, if you had just gone to the Department of Family Reunions instead of trying to force your way across, they could have helped you out.”

Héctor rolled his eyes, _again with the Department of Family Reunions,_ but caught sight of the Ernesto de la Cruz poster on their wall. An idea quickly formed in his head.

“You like De la Cruz?” He asked animatedly, pointing toward the poster, “He and I go way back! I can get you front row tickets to his Sunrise Spectacular! Backstage passes even! You could meet him! …You just have to let me cross the bridge and let me see my family!”

The officer turned away as if he was a nuisance, which was better than anger, Héctor figured. He was attempting to bribe an officer, and that could land him in a lot more trouble for the night.

“...No,” the officer finally said. They sighed, however, when they got a look at Hector’s eyes, probably seeing his heartbreak at the situation presented to him, “Look, I know this must be hard for you, so I’m letting you off with a warning.”

Héctor deflated at the paper presented to him, his snatched it away with a huff and got up.

“Go talk to the Department of Family Reunions,” The officer insisted just as he was about to leave the office, “They should be able to help you.”

“No gracias,” Héctor mumbled to himself, too quiet for the officer to hear, as he walked out of the office, crumpling up the warning in his hands.

He needed… something, a plan? A place to go cry? He wasn’t sure, maybe he just needed a drink? But whatever it was, he needed it _now_.

“H-hey, do you really know De la Cruz?” He heard some kid’s voice from behind him, too similar to Miguel’s, like it was mocking him.

Stars he didn’t need _this_.

“Who wants to kn-AAH!”


	5. When I See the Way You Act

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updating on Sunday cause of Finals! Also I drew some art of Héctor's patched up look:  
> http://eurazba.tumblr.com/post/173639885575/h%C3%A9ctor-as-he-appears-in-my-fic-shaken-by-how-long

This night just seemed to go from bad to worse, Miguel could not _believe_ his luck! Cursed into the Land of the Dead for “stealing” his great, great grandfather’s guitar, and his only option to go back to the Land of the Living was to give up music forever? No way!

So now, here Miguel was, crouched low in a side room with Dante while listening to some guy try to convince what was probably a police officer to let him cross the marigold bridge. Was this a common occurrence in the Land of the Dead? This was the second person he had seen/heard with the same problem. Miguel shook his head, only half listening to the next room over while trying to think of a way to get to De la Cruz so he could find his Papá Héctor. He wasn’t with the rest of family, and by the way Mamá Imelda talked about him, Miguel probably knew why. The only way he could think of finding Papá Héctor was through De la Cruz, his amigo. Then he could get a proper musician’s blessing.

…And get to meet De la Cruz, and maybe get his autograph too, that’d be really cool.

“You like De la Cruz? He and I go way back!” Miguel perked up, _someone who knew De la Cruz?_ They could help him! “I can get you front row tickets to his Sunrise Spectacular! Backstage passes even! You could meet him! …You just have to let me cross the bridge and let me see my family!”

Miguel held Dante tighter, listening and waiting for his moment to talk to the skeleton who “went way back” with De la Cruz. Heck, maybe they even knew his Papá Héctor!

The skeleton suddenly walked past Miguel and Dante in a huff, not noticing them. Miguel called out.

“H-hey, do you really know De la Cruz?” Miguel asked, catching up to him.

The skeleton slowly turned to him, “Who wants to kn-AHH!”

Miguel quickly realized his mistake at trying to approach him out in the open. He grabbed the skeleton by the suspenders and yanked him over into a nearby phone booth while the skeleton yelled that he was alive. Miguel shoved him in the booth harder than he meant, but decided not to dwell on it as he tried to explain himself as casually as he could.

 “Yeah I’m alive,” he began while the skeleton attempted to push himself as far away from Miguel as he could in the tiny booth, “And if I want to get back to the Land of the Living, I-”

“Wait-” But Miguel didn’t stop.

“-Need to get to De la Cruz so I can find my great, great grandfather.” He quickly finished.

“Miguel?”

Miguel stiffened, someone else that knew him? This could either be really good or really bad. Miguel looked up at the skeleton he grabbed, it was the same one he saw at the gate trying to cross the bridge, the one that had looked so familiar.

Before he could get another thought in, he was wrapped in a hug that nearly squeezed the life out of him almost as badly as Tía Rosita’s hug had. He made a small choked noise before he was released from the hug and held out at arm’s length. Miguel took the close proximity to really look at the skeleton before him. The familiarity finally clicked.

“…P…Papá Héctor?” Miguel asked.

He had a gold tooth, just like in Mamá Coco’s story, and a little beard on the front of his face now that wasn’t there in his wedding photo, but it was definitely him.

“Yes!” His Papá Héctor cheerfully confirmed, a smile growing on his face.

Miguel knew that a wedding was when people dressed their best and was certainly not how people looked on a day-to-day basis, but he hadn’t expected his great, great grandfather to look, so… Scruffy. His bones weren’t nearly as white as all the other skeletons and some even appeared to be wrapped up and held together with tape, the markings on his calavera looked to be partially wiped away, and his clothes were very worn out and covered in bright patches aside from his jacket which was new, but still missing half of its right sleeve.

“Wait, wait, you’re here. What are you doing here m’ijo?” His papá Héctor asked, kneeling down to be at a better height and look Miguel in the eye, “Is this why I can’t cross the bridge?”

“Oh, yeah, uh…”

Papá Héctor let go of one of his arms so Miguel could grab the photos. He showed them to his great, great grandfather and looked to the side when Papá Héctor gasped, gearing himself for the scolding and the same question of how to send him back that was bound to come. Dante’s panting felt much louder than it was just a moment ago.

“M-m’ijo, what happened?” Papá Héctor gave his arm a little squeeze, his voice surprisingly soft, “Are you okay?”

Miguel felt himself relax at the surprisingly quiet reaction, it was so different from Mamá Imelda. He wasn’t sure what to say at first, but of course, he could tell Papá Héctor his story, he could understand.

“I-I got cursed,” Miguel managed to explain.

“What?” Papá Héctor asked in a near whisper.

“I-I just wanted to play in the plaza! I just wanted to be a musician like you and De la Cruz, b-but everything kept getting in the way, Abuelita kept getting in the way, and she said I was going to join the family in the shoe shop, start making shoes, but I don’t want to make shoes! I want to make music! And I tried to explain that to everyone! And I tried to tell everyone that you hadn’t left the family forever, that you had died but they wouldn’t listen! A-and I tried to play for them, make them listen and show that I could be a musician. B-but…” Miguel had been talking at a millions words a minute, Papá Héctor had looked like he wanted to interject at several points but he didn’t stop him. Miguel slowed down, though, his voice suddenly going very quiet at the memory, “…But Abuelita smashed my guitar.”

He looked down, embarrassed to show how much it hurt him and took a sharp breath in order to try and calm down. Papá Héctor took the pause to finally speak up.

“Oh, M’ijo,” he said. His voice was warm, like Miguel’s mamá trying to comfort him after a nightmare when he was younger, “I know you worked hard on that guitar.”

He pulled Miguel in for another hug, this one much gentler than the one from before, and Miguel found himself returning the hug. Despite lacking the overall mass of hugging a living person his papá Héctor had a warmth that Miguel could feel and helped him take comfort in the gesture. They pulled away and Miguel managed a small smile.

“I ran away,” Miguel continued, much slower and softer this time, “I still wanted to play in the plaza, but they wouldn’t let me play unless I had a guitar, and no one would lend me one, so I… so I decided to borrow De la Cruz’s, I know it was yours before it was his, so I figured it would be okay for me to borrow it…” He sighed, “But instead, I just got cursed for “stealing” the guitar. …But it’s okay!” He quickly reassured, “Since it’s a family curse, I only need to get my family’s blessing to go back home! Mamá Imelda wouldn’t give me her blessing unless I agreed to never play music again, but music’s the only thing that makes me happy. And… I knew if I found you, that you could give me a musician’s blessing! And lucky I found you!”

He’d admit it’s a little disappointing not getting to meet De la Cruz, but it was probably better this way.

Papá Héctor had remained quiet while he finished the story, Miguel looked up at him to gage his reaction as he blinked a few times, shocked and trying to absorb all of what had been said. Miguel waited for some kind of scolding to finally come at his attempt to steal, that’s what parents and grandparents and adults always seemed to focus on. Papá Héctor shook his head and let out an airy laugh.

“You really are a crazy kid m’ijo,” He ruffled Miguel’s hair and Miguel couldn’t help but let out his own laugh, his Papá Héctor was a really cool guy! “How do I get you that blessing?”

“We just need a cempasulchil petal,” Miguel cheerfully informed him as they open the door of the cramped phone booth.

The moment they stepped out, however, they were spotted by Mamá Imelda. In a flash Miguel grabbed his papá Héctor’s arm and sprinted towards the building’s exit. He slipped through the crowds of skeletons and out the doors without a problem, a snapping sound came from next to him and Miguel turned to see Papá Héctor’s arm… Just his arm. He turned back towards where the arm pointed and saw Papá Héctor running wildly after him.

“Espérame Miguel!” Papá Héctor yelled as Miguel gave him his arm and they went running out into the crowd of skeletons.

* * *

 

Héctor couldn’t believe that Miguel, his great, great grandson, was here, right before him, seeing and talking to him. He thought he must be dreaming but the rattle in his bones reminded him that this was very real. They sat under a stone bridge a safe enough distance from the station building, Miguel and the Xolo dog that Héctor knew was Miguel’s catching their breaths as Héctor took a moment to take this all in.

There was a mix of good and bad in the situation. Bad because Miguel had gotten himself _cursed_ of all things, he was running from the rest of his family, and he had the photos with him and Héctor hadn’t been able to cross the bridge. But also good because Héctor couldn’t deny this opportunity to talk to his great, great grandson, actually interact, and get to explain himself. He could even ask Miguel to deliver a message to Coco from him, one that she would actually be able to hear. He turned when Miguel let out a light laugh and shook his head.

“Papá Héctor?” Every time Miguel called him “Papá” his heart soared, “Before you send me back, can… can we just talk for a bit? And… could I ask you a few things?”

Héctor smiled and nodded, of course any reason to spend just a bit more time together. He became very aware of the letter sitting against his ribcage in his jacket pocket, he could probably guess what Miguel wanted to ask.

“Of course, I want to talk with you too m’ijo, but first, a disguise,” It was probably best that they not stay in one place for too long, especially with Imelda hot on their trail, and they still needed to grab a cempasulchil petal, but Miguel couldn’t go out in the open looking so very alive.

“A disguise?”

“Yeah, right now you’ve got… all that _flesh_ ,” Héctor said, Miguel looked down at his hands. Héctor caught site of this tips of his fingers all now a gleaming white bone, _that’s not good_ , he shook his head and tried to focus on what his was doing at the moment, “You got any makeup? Face paint? Crayons or even dye?”

Miguel inspected his pockets and pulled out two tins of shoe polish, one black and one white.

“Perfect,” Héctor took the tins and popped open the white one, “Now, ask your first question and then stay still.”

Miguel seemed to think hard, probably having too many to suddenly decide on just one, Héctor waited for his to question before applying the polish.

“Did you… were you going to come back home?” Miguel tapped his shoes against the box he sat on and looked nervously up at Héctor, “Before you died, where you going to come back home even though you left to play music?”

Ah, they were starting out with the hard questions first.

“Yes,” Héctor answered softly, he started putting the white shoe polish on Miguel’s face to distract himself as he rambled, but Miguel jerked back at the touch, “Hey, hey, stay still,” he said softly, and sighed as he continued, it had been a while since he had shared his dying story with anybody, “Yes I wanted to go home, so badly. I loved music and playing, sure, but I loved your Mamá Imelda and Mamá Coco even more. I shouldn’t have left Santa Cecilia to begin with, being away from them was terrible… Ernesto and I, we had been on the road for a few months doing shows here and there, but I became homesick. We were in Mexico City when I finally decided to pack up my things and go home, Ernesto walked me to the station… But- …But I had gotten food poisoning from something I ate earlier, I felt a pain in my stomach and I… I died before we even reached the station… I never got home.”

Héctor had gone quiet as he finished his story, his hand hanging over Miguel’s face as he finished the details with the white. They were both silent for a while, taking in the story.

“…I’m sorry that happened to you,” Miguel said in a small voice, breaking Héctor out of his trance, “I’m sorry that all this happened to you, that Mamá Imelda made the family hate you, that you had to be separated from us for so long.”

“Hey, hey, it’s not your fault m’ijo,” Héctor tried to reassure him, really, this boy had a heart bigger than his head, he was too sweet, “It’s not anyone’s fault, just bad luck.”

Miguel looked at him, silently asking if it really was okay, Héctor responded with a smile.

“And besides, I did finally get to come home, when you put up my photo,” Héctor said, tossing aside the white shoe polish near the xolo dog and popping open the black polish, “I’ve never been happier -look up- I got to see Coco, and you and all of the rest of the family. I got to be a part of the family again, and I just… Thank you so much for giving that to me.”

Miguel looked at him with awe as he just about poured his heart out.

“…Well now I kinda feel bad for thinking this place was just something adults made up for kids,” Miguel said.

Héctor snorted in amusement, Miguel relaxed and smiled with him.

“So… What was it like playing music with De la Cruz?” Miguel asked.

Héctor paused, looking him in the eye while his finger covered in shoe polish hovered over Miguel’s face. Should he tell him? He probably should, to set the records straight, and maybe a vengeful little piece of him wanted to dull Ernesto’s Ivory throne, even just a little bit. But the eager gleam in Miguel’s eye made him stop, did he really want to crush the boy’s idol like that? Would Miguel even believe him?

“…It was fun,” Héctor simply said, adding the finishing touches to Miguel’s face while recalling when they would play so long ago, it really was fun then, “We’d played music in the plaza, just having a good time and bothering the people in town,” Héctor chuckled, bothering Imelda in particular, “Ernesto was always so flashy, showing off to whatever girl tickled his fancy at the time. He was really good at finding an audience, and he’d always drag me along so we could play together. Playing music on my own was nice, sure, but it’s more fun when Ernesto and I would play together, or when Imelda would sing along with me. Music is meant to be shared with those you care about.”

The words felt old in his mouth, like a story that he used to tell all the time but had long since forgotten. Miguel nodded eagerly, agreeing with the sentiment.

Héctor tossed aside the other canister of shoe polish, now done with what was a rather impressive work of art if he did say so himself. He pulled Miguel’s hood up to hide his ears and popped open a compact mirror to show what he had done.

“Ta-dah! Dead as a doorknob!” He announced as Miguel looked at himself in the mirror with fascination, flexing his face to see the full extent of his “look”, “C’mon we can talk while we walk.”

Héctor jumped up, Miguel popped up to join him, but he lingered where he stood.

“Something wrong?” Héctor asked.

“...Well,” Miguel said, his hands behind his back while he rocked on his heels, “Could we, maybe…” He pursed his lips, nervous to ask, Héctor turned and gave him his full attention, “Before you send me back, could I, maybe… Meet? De la Cruz?”

Miguel hiked up his shoulders, his face turned to the side but his eyes staring wide at Héctor as he gave his most charming grin.

 _Meet?_ Oh, oh boy.

“…I don’t know,” Héctor mumbled, rubbing his hand against the back of his neck and trying to look away from his great, great grandson’s eager look that was quickly crumbling his will to say no.

“I have plenty of time!” Miguel said, smiling brighter and conveniently still hiding his hands so Héctor couldn’t see their bony tips, “I’ve got until sunrise.”

 _You know where he’s rehearsing,_ the little goblin in Héctor’s head helpfully supplied, _it’s not too far from here_. He managed to look away from Miguel but made the mistake of looking back at him and felt his remaining resolve crumble under the boy’s bright eyes. He couldn’t bear to disappoint his great, great grandson. _It’ll be quick_. He sighed

“…I suppose so.”

Miguel cheered.

They walked out from under the bridge and into the streets, Héctor making a beeline for a nearby vase of marigolds while Miguel followed closely behind. He plucked out a flower.

“Alright, now I get to ask _you_ a question,” Héctor said, tapping the flower against Miguel’s nose at the “you” before shoving it in the ribbon on his hat so they’d have it close, Miguel wrinkled his nose in response but smiled.

“Yeah?”

“What stories did your Mamá Coco tell about me?” He asked, leading the way to the Ceci’s studio.

“Oh she told me all sorts of stories,” Miguel said, unable to stop bouncing as he walked, “She told me how you would play music and how Mamá Imelda would sing along and it was “the most beautiful thing she ever heard”, how you always managed to scare Mamá Imelda’s cat when you sneezed, even if you were on the other side of the house. She told me how you would always have trouble getting up in the mornings so she’d have to jump on you until you woke up.”

Héctor smiled at the memories.

“She told me about one time when you went on a trip for a week and came back missing your tooth, she said you talked with a whistle for a week until you were able to get a gold replacement,” Miguel imitated a whistle in his words and Héctor laughed, “Mamá Coco also had a story about you and De la Cruz!”

Héctor glanced at him, curious and trying to rack his brain for a moment where both Ernesto and Coco where in the same place with him. Ernesto had generally avoided the family after Coco was born unless he came to drag Héctor off for another performance, Miguel didn’t seem to notice and continued right along.

“You were trying to put up Mamá Coco’s hair and Ernesto tried to help, but you both were having trouble, so you decided to cut her hair and made a complete mess of it!” Miguel explained with a laugh, and Héctor joined him, oh he remembered that well.

“Your Mamá Imelda nearly took our heads off when she found out,” He added.

“Mamá Coco even said you wrote her a song,” Miguel said, and Héctor felt his curiosity peak, had Miguel heard the song before? But surely he would notice that it was the same one that Ernesto sung if he was such a big fan, “She never sang it to me, we would hum a bunch of songs together in secret and stuff, but she never hummed or sang me that song, and I asked her to, a lot. I guess it was a song just for her, huh?”

Miguel looked over at him, waiting for an answer.

“Yeah, originally it was just for Coco,” Before it was bastardized and sang to the world as some cheap love ballad, “I wrote it for her to sing every night when we were apart, when I traveled, and I’d sing it back to her, so we’d be close. …You know, I tried to sing it to you last year at Día de Muertos.”

“You did?”

“Yeah,” Héctor confirmed, “But then you went and played _me_ a song.”

Miguel seemed to rattle his brain for the event before he turned to Héctor in horror, “You _heard_ that?!” Héctor nodded and Miguel’s horror only grew, “Ay dios mio, I can’t believe it, that’s so _embarrassing_! I was so bad! I made so many mistakes! I’ve gotten _way_ better since then!”

Héctor chuckled at his childish embarrassment, “You were good m’ijo,” He reassured, ruffling Miguel’s hair under his hood, “For a kid who was just learning and had no teacher, you did great!”

“I’ve gotten _way_ better since then,” Miguel repeated.

“So I take it you’ll play me another song?” Héctor asked playfully.

“…Sure, so long as you sing me the song you wrote for Coco before I go home,” Miguel replied.

“Deal,” Héctor said without thinking, holding out his hand to shake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Its kinda weird calling Héctor “Papá Héctor” so much.  
> Also, I like how one person put it, this fic is a dynamic shift, the main pieces of the story and plot are still there, but with Héctor and Miguel knowing of each other beforehand, there’s a shift in their dynamic, and this fic goes along and shows that.  
> The bit about Ernesto helping cut Coco’s hair is based on this post: http://kerolunaticat.tumblr.com/post/171055525703/imelda-is-gonna-kill-them


	6. Something That Does Right by You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've added art to the first chapter, go check it out!

They shook on their little song agreement before Miguel was distracted by something behind Héctor.

“Woooah, Ernesto de la Cruz’s Sunrise Spectacular? Qué padre!” Miguel said, running over to the walled ledge and hanging off it.

Héctor rolled his eyes while Miguel’s back was to him, walking up next to him and trying to ignore the tune that tootled out of the sign, “Yup. Every year Ernesto puts on this silly show to mark the end of Dia de los Muertos.”

“And you can get us in!” Miguel added.

Héctor made an elongated noise to say that he couldn’t _exactly_ do that.

“…But, you said you had front row tickets?” Miguel asked.

Aw geeze, he had heard that? “That… was a lie, and I apologize for that.”

Miguel gave him a somewhat stunned look that reminded Héctor most adults didn’t admit to lying when in front of kids, he was a bit out of practice with this.

“…So… Do you, play… in the show?” Miguel asked, he must have thought that was how they were getting to Ernesto.

“No,” Héctor snorted, “People come to that show to see Ernesto, and only Ernesto,” Sure he’d have guest artists some years, but _Ernesto_ was the shining star of that show, “They don’t want to see some guy they’ve never heard of.”

“I guess that make sense…” Miguel mumbled with a nod that said he would go see a show with Ernesto and only Ernesto, “Alright so, how are we getting to De la Cruz?”

“Well, _I_ happen to know where he’s rehearsing!” He said it like a joke, and he supposed to Miguel who saw them as being friends, it could be perceived as a joke.

They hopped along little paths and stairways before they finally approached the warehouse where the rehearsal was taking place. Héctor pulled off his arm and launched it up to Ceci’s window with his suspenders, it easily landed up on the ledge and he rapped away at the window, waving to her when he guessed she turned around. A few seconds passed before he felt his arm scooped up by Ceci as she popped her head out of the window and looked down at the three of them.

“Don’t tell me you need another patch job already,” she said playfully, rolling her eyes.

He greeted her back as she tossed his arm down and lowered the fire escape without hesitation. Miguel and the xolo dog went scrambling up while Héctor put his arm back on, they all crawled in through the window to find Ceci working on one of the 40 Frida dresses he’d been helping out with earlier.

“Or are you here to tell me that you’ve finally taken up my offer to replace your hat and pants, and maybe get you some shoes?” She said, not looking up from her work.

“I’m not going to replace my hat Ceci, it’s _my_ hat,” He responded.

He could hear her roll her eyes as she mumbled something about _men and their hats_.

“At the very least I can get you some shoes, a pair from your wife’s shop even, you never know when you might step in something,” she said, turning to look at him out of the side of her eye.

“Eh, normally I’m the something to step in,” Héctor laughed.

Ceci rolled her eyes again and shook her head, turning fully to him but frowning when she glanced at the clock.

“You’re early…” She said quietly, “You said you were going to be out most of the night for Dia de Muertos, visiting your family. It’s only been a couple of hours, at most.” He could tell by the tired look in her eyes, the same one from earlier when he was helping her, that her sense of time was a little warped by her focus on finishing the dresses. If it weren’t for the clock she might not have even realized how long it had been, “…Did something happen?”

“Ah, a little mix up here and there,” Héctor brushed it off, like he didn’t have a mental meltdown earlier, “I have notorious bad luck, you should know.”

“Bad luck with keeping things? Sure, you have plenty of that,” she laughed, “Like my bedazzled jacket, my three scarves, my bolt of muslin, or my 5 pounds of cotton?”

“What do you know these things just slip through my fingers,” Héctor shrugged with a laugh at what was only a handful of the things he had borrowed from Ceci throughout the years.

“ _Silk_ slips through your fingers. Muslin and cotton do not.” She could only hold her smile for so long before turning serious, “Why are you here Héctor? Is something wrong?”

“…Something was wrong earlier, yes. But now its fixed! My family came to me it seems. In fact, we were just passing through to…” Héctor turned to gesture at Miguel and the Xolo dog before realizing they were suddenly gone, “Miguel? Miguel!”

Ceci gasped, “Oh, Héctor, I’m so sorry, I know he was your only-”

“No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no. He’s not _dead_ ,” Héctor quickly reassured her assumption that Miguel had died and he couldn’t cross over, though very distractedly as he tried to search for Miguel in the little studio, and spotting an open door, “My family just has a habit of attracting bad luck, we were just passing through though. I-I’m sorry I have to go find Miguel.”

Ceci nodded in response as he ran off through the open door, worriedly looking for Miguel.

“Miguel? Miguel?!” He called out, trying not to be too loud and bother the many artists he dodged, but also needing Miguel to hear him.

He finally saw him after turning a corner, talking to Frida Kahlo.

“Miguel!” He called out, zipping over to his side, “You can’t run off on me like that m’ijo,” He tried to push Miguel off to the side in his distraction, “C’mon, stop pestering the celebrities.”

Miguel followed him a bit off towards the window wall, but then quickly turned around to face Héctor.

“You said De la Cruz would be here,” Miguel said softly, disappointment prominent on his face, Héctor felt his chest clench ever so slightly, “He’s halfway across town, throwing some big party.”

Héctor turned to look out the window and at the big ivory tower he knew of all too well as Miguel gestured to it, “That bum,” He muttered, then questioned out loud, “Who doesn’t come to their own rehearsal?”

“Papá Héctor?” Héctor turned to Miguel, “Why didn’t De la Cruz invite you to his party?” He asked, his eyes narrowing with concern and the slightest hint of suspicion.

 _A number of reasons_ , Héctor thought, _the fact that we haven’t talked once since he arrived in the Land of the Dead, even though he was on my reunion list, the fact that the nearly forgotten don’t spend much of their time up with the rest of the Land of the Dead, the fact that even if I_ had _been invited to the party I wouldn’t have gone._

“Dia de Muertos is about spending time with your family,” Héctor answered easily, because it was true, and he was always busy on Dia de Muertos either trying or now actually getting to cross the bridge and spend time with his family, “Not running off to some party.”

Miguel looked to the side, huffing a bit as if he had heard something similar before. He was probably still angry at his family for what happened earlier.

“I’m sorry he’s not here, but… I should probably get you back to the Land of the Living now,” Héctor said, kneeling down next to Miguel and reaching up for the flower in his hat.

Miguel looked panicked at the proposal, he turned back to Héctor and looked pleadingly at him, “Are you sure there’s _no_ way for us to get to De la Cruz?” He smiled nervously, showing his adorable dimple and giving Héctor that same look that made his resolve crumble so quickly, “I still have time.”

Again, Miguel hid his hands behind his back, Héctor was certain that at least half of his hand must have been bones at this point. Miguel upped the ante of what Héctor swore could have been weaponized charm.

He sighed and agreed, barely catching Miguel’s smile change from a nervous one to a bright and excited one as Héctor put his hand over his face. Why was he so _bad_ at saying no to his great, great grandson? He got up, ruffling Miguel’s hair under his hood, while turning to the musicians he recognized, “Hey Gustavo! You know anything about this party?”

“Pssh, It’s the hot ticket,” Gustavo responded, “But if you’re not on the guest list, you’re never getting in, _Chorizo_.”

“Hey, it’s Chorizo!” The other musicians behind Gustavo called out and erupt into laughter, repeating the name.

 _Oh great_ , “Ah-haa, guys, very funny,” Héctor’s eye twitched at the nickname, he was really hoping to avoid this while around Miguel.

“Chorizo?” Miguel asked, turning to Héctor curiously.

“Oh, this guy’s famous!” Gustavo excitedly told Miguel, “Go on, ask him how he died.”

Miguel pinched his eyebrows, “Food poi-”

“-He choked on some chorizo!” Gustavo supplied before Miguel could finish, the musicians behind him all burst out into laughter once again.

Miguel, turned to Héctor, silently asking if that was true.

“I didn’t choke, okay!” Héctor quickly defended, not looking at Miguel, “I got food poisoning! Which is a big difference!”

They simply laughed harder, not caring.  

Héctor threw up his hands in exasperation before turning away with a huff and crossing his arms, “ _Musicians_ ,” He grumbled.

“…Hey, I’m a musician,” Miguel said from behind him, “…And more importantly, _you’re_ a musician!”

 _Whoops_ , Héctor had gotten so used to dismissing other musicians for decades he forgot that, thanks to Miguel, he slowly was becoming one again.

“Well,” Gustavo said, distracting them before Héctor could try to respond, “If you really want to get to Ernesto, there is that music competition at the Plaza De la Cruz. Winner gets to play at his party.”

“Music competition?” Miguel repeated, an excited light in his eyes, he turned to Héctor.

Well, that was probably better than Héctor’s idea to sneak in and crash the party.

“You know where I can get a guitar?” Miguel asked with a smile.

“...Yeah, I’ve got one you can use,” Héctor smiled back as he led them off to somewhere he probably shouldn’t be taking Miguel.

_A very special guitar that he’ll be happy to see._

* * *

 

Héctor lead as they made their way down, down from the bright, glittering lights of the rest of the Land of the Dead to an old, familiar place.

Miguel glanced behind them at the white tower of De la Cruz, probably wondering why they were getting farther and farther away from it.

“Papá Héctor?” Miguel asked, Héctor slowed slightly, “Why don’t you have a guitar _on_ you?”

Héctor winced, just barely, _because he hadn’t picked up a guitar for decades, had only played three times at Dia de Muertos in the past however many years, because he wasn’t enough of a musician again to actually carry a guitar with him yet_.

“Nasty habit of losing things,” Héctor said instead, which wasn’t technically untrue, he continued along the old wooden path that had been pieced together with scraps, “It’s better to keep things with others where I know I can find them again. I’ve lost all sorts of things. Clothes, shoes, instruments, pictures, precious family heirlooms, a van.”

“A van?” Miguel repeated, astonished.

“Not very good at driving,” Héctor responded with a chuckle. He even lost the little notepad he had with the family’s names written down on it a few months ago, though that was okay, he had committed everything that was written down in it to memory, “Honestly I’m surprised I haven’t lost your letter yet.”

He pulled out the letter from his coat pocket and waved it around a little to show Miguel.

“…Ay dios mío, you still have that?!” Miguel asked in the same embarrassed tone as when Héctor revealed that he head heard his song, “I wrote that like _forever_ ago!”

Héctor laughed as he put the letter away. Two years wasn’t forever ago, especially for how long Héctor had been around, though to a twelve-year-old it must be, it was a sixth of your life. Miguel ran up closer to him in an attempt to try and steal the letter. Héctor easily out paced him and jumped off the ledge of the broken bridge, landing in a pile of bones and zipping himself back together as Miguel watched from the top of the ledge in wonder.      

“Keep up m’ijo. Come on!” Héctor laughed as he heard Miguel come rushing after him down the wooden stairs.

Old, warbly music slowly filled the air as they approached the arch covered in paintings and announcing that this was where the forgotten resided.

He shouldn’t have brought Miguel here.

* * *

 

Miguel’s papá Héctor was a funny guy. He didn’t act like most adults, strict and full of rules, but there were moments when it was very obvious that he had once been a parent. Compared to most adults though, he was way more fun to be around.

Miguel asked how old Papá Héctor had been when he died as they left the warehouse for the guitar, and strangely enough, Papá Héctor had to actually think about it, like he had somehow forgotten. Miguel was shocked to hear that he was twenty-one, that was only nine years older than Miguel, they could be primos, or hermanos. Heck, they had less of an age difference than what Miguel would have with his baby sister (they were certain) once she was born in the next couple of months.

They traveled farther and farther down, away from De la Cruz’s tower, but more importantly, away from what seemed to be the rest of the Land of the Dead. The area they came to was a dusty grey, very unlike the bright, incredible colors of the rest of the Land of the Dead. The wooden bridge they walked across was raised high above the crumbling Aztec buildings, but looked about as ready to fall apart as everything else. This place was frightening, why was his Papá Héctor taking him here? Why were they going this far for a guitar?

Miguel asked and he saw his papá Héctor hunch into himself a bit, like the question made him nervous. He gave an explanation about losing things before tossing himself off the bridge very suddenly when Miguel tried to snag the letter from him. The place seemed to get even darker and dustier as he ran down the stairs to keep up with Papá Héctor, not wanting to stray too far and making sure Dante stayed close.

They approached an archway, skeletons with wings of cempasulchil petals were painted around it with one phrase, _Los Olvidados_ – The Forgotten.

Miguel shivered, he couldn’t help but wonder again why his papá Héctor was bringing him here, to this… underworld of the underworld. But, looking at him as they walked into what could only be described as a shanty town, held above the water by old wooden bridges and with buildings haphazardly put together with scraps, Papá Héctor seemed to have no qualms. He walked around a hole in the wooden boards with ease like he knew it was there, like he had been here before. In fact, Papá Héctor seemed to blend in with these skeletons more, they looked to be just as worn out as his he was, with their yellowed bones and patched up clothes, though more so. This is where they had come to get Papá Héctor’s guitar, was this… was _this_ where he lived- or…stayed?

Before Miguel had a chance to ask, some skeleton’s called out to Papá Héctor.

“Cousin Héctor!” They yelled.

“Hey! These guys!” He greeted back cheerfully. “Hey, tío!”

Wait, _cousin_ Héctor? _Tío?_

“Is this… your side of the family?” Miguel asked.

“Weeeeeeeeell, no,” Papá Héctor answered, hiking up his shoulders again, “We’re all the ones with no photos on ofrendas, no family to go home to. Nearly forgotten, you know? So we all call each other cousin or tío or whatever.”

“…But, you’re not forgotten,” Miguel said, but it suddenly was becoming more apparent why Papá Héctor probably wasn’t on the guest list of De la Cruz’s party, even if they were amigos. This area, this place for the nearly forgotten, was very cut off from the rest of the Land of the Dead. Miguel silently wondered how many of the skeleton’s actually left this place once they came, or how frequently his Papá Héctor might have left, maybe only for the holiday? But it still didn’t quite make sense, “I remember you, I’ve put up your photo, you said you visited.”

“That’s true,” Héctor mused with a faint chuckle, “But before that? No one ever put up my photo, I was considered nearly forgotten. …And right now? Well, I’m kind of a unique case, not many people suddenly have their picture put up and start being remembered again. Especially not after how long I’ve been here.”

 _Over 90 years_ , Miguel thought, he had done the math in his head after Papá Héctor told him how old he was when he died.

“And, you can’t go stay with the rest of the family,” Miguel said, “Can you?”

Papá Héctor had managed to keep walking throughout the conversation but finally stopped.

“…No,” He confirmed quietly, “Imelda doesn’t want to talk to me.”

“…Papá Héctor? Are you okay?” Miguel asked, walking up to him and seeing the vacant stare on his great, great grandfather’s face.

He shook it off and looked over at Miguel, “Si, I’m good. …C’mon, we’re almost there.”

* * *

 

This was amounting to be a long and surprisingly emotional night for Héctor. Even if it wasn’t as bad as he thought it was going to be when the buzzer first sounded, he still felt like he needed a drink, and lucky there was one waiting just a couple a steps away.

He bounced up to the bottle, scooping it up and greeting Tía Chelo and the others not too far up ahead. They excitedly greeted him back and thanked him as he handed over the bottle and grabbed a couple of shot glasses from atop the crate. They messily filled their own glasses before filling his.

“Is Chicharrón around?” He asked, already knowing the answer, Chicharrón hadn’t left his home much in the past couple of months.

“Eh, in the bungalow,” Tía Chelo answered, waving over to it and looking back at her cards, “I don’t know if he’s in the mood for visitors!”

“Ay, who doesn’t like a visit from Cousin Héctor!” He said, jerking open the door and wincing as it slammed it all the way open into the wall behind it. Hopefully Cheech wouldn’t be too pissed.

He headed inside as Miguel followed after with his Xolo dog that he had been keeping close since they came here. He slipped around the piles of stuff with practiced ease and walked up to the trinket-filled hammock he knew Chicharrón was in. He plucked the worn out straw hat from the top of the hammock to reveal an unamused face.

“Buenas noches, Chicharrón,” Héctor greeted with a bright smile.

“You’re early, I’m supposed to have a least one more hour of blissful silence before I have to see your stupid face again and listen to you prattle on about your great, great grandson all night,” Chicharrón responded, a bit playfully yes, but also grumpier than Héctor was expecting.

“C’mon. It’s Dia de Muertos! I brought you a little offering!” He said, holding up the shot glass.

“Go away,” Chicharrón said bluntly.

It bothered Héctor, Chicharrón was pretty okay with him coming around now that he stopped borrowing stuff. And when Héctor would come back for the night on the previous Día de Muertos he would just sit back and listen as Héctor blabbered on about the visits. Something was off.

“I will, I will, but first, I need you to tell me where my guitar is,” Héctor said, ignoring the niggling in his head for now, “I know I left it here but it’s impossible to find anything in this place.”

“There’s a system,” Chicharrón insisted with a frown, “And besides, why should I give it back to you? There’s plenty of my things that you “borrowed” and never gave back.”

“Chee-eech,” Héctor said, drawing out the word.

“Like my mini fridge? My lasso? My good napkins? My _van_?”

“Have you considered not having so many things to borrow?” Héctor asked playfully as he set down the drinks on a nearby chair and looked through a pile next to the hammock, he gestured for Miguel to do the same.

“…It’s next to the drawer on the right, under the leather hat,” Chicharrón sighed.

“Graci-as!” Héctor sing-songed, shuffling over to the splintered drawer and finding it right under the aforementioned hat.

Héctor picked it up, letting the hat fall to the ground, and spun around to show it off to Miguel.

“Ta-dah!” Héctor proclaimed.

“…Is that?” Miguel squinted at it, “ _My_ guitar?”

“The very same!” Héctor confirmed, handing it to Miguel, “Or, well, a copy of it, from last year.”

Miguel took the guitar gently in his hand and looked over the guitar in nostalgic wonder. His hands brushed over the guitar, and Héctor noticed the mixed look on his face, something that was both happy and sad.

“You okay m’ijo?” He asked, kneeling down and placing a hand on Miguel’s shoulder.

“Yeah,” Miguel said softly, looking up at him, “It just… nice, to see my guitar, even just an old version of it, after what happened.”

Héctor gave his shoulder a light squeeze. Miguel smiled back to show he was okay before he plucked a string, his face twisted at the harsh twang that came out.

“I know this guitar’s from a year ago but I don’t remember it sounding that bad,” Miguel said holding the guitar out and looking over it.

“Eeh, It’s been a while since I’ve tuned it,” Héctor said with a shrug, “Hey Cheech you got some tools ‘round here so we can tune the guitar?”

He got up and turned around to see that Chicharrón shifted from where he lay to look right Miguel, he glanced up at Héctor with a concerned and knowing look.

“Not dead,” Héctor reassured, Chicharrón’s eyes just went wider.

“Whatever game you’re playing Héctor,” he said, his voice low, giving Héctor a very pointed look, “Is a dangerous one. You need to fix this sooner rather than later, before something becomes…” He glanced at Miguel again, “Permanent.”

Héctor felt a chill and prickle at the words. He knew what they meant, he needed to send Miguel home, and he will, soon, just this one little thing.

“I know, I know-”

The thought was quickly forgotten when a horrifying golden light flickered through Chicharrón’s bones. He fell back in the hammock, exhausted.

 _Oh, oh no_.

Héctor suddenly understood why Chicharrón wanted to be alone. He was being forgotten, his final death, it was probably going to be tonight. And here Héctor was with _his photo on the ofrenda and family who still remembers him_ , coming and rubbing it in during his final hours. He became overly aware of Miguel still watching them, he shouldn’t have brought him here, Miguel shouldn’t be seeing this.

“A-are you okay amigo?” He asked weakly.

Chicharrón gave a weak laugh and a pained smile.

“…I’m fading Héctor. I can feel it,” he said.

Héctor’s mouth opened and closed, unsure of what to do or to say. He had seen this so many times before with other friends, but normally they would say something before it got this bad, so they would have time to come to terms with it and say their goodbyes, but Chicharrón had hidden it, there was no time. Héctor just stared, wondering what he could do.

“…Play me something, like last year,” Chicharrón said, answering the silent question.

He was talking about how Héctor had played Chicharrón the song Miguel had played him last year at the holiday. Chicharrón was shocked at first to see Héctor play after he personally banned music from his life for so long, but had voiced his appreciation at hearing Héctor play again.

Héctor nodded and turned to Miguel still holding the guitar and watching them with wide eyes.

“I’ll still need something to tune the guitar with, and I can’t find anything in this mess of yours,” Héctor teased, but he couldn’t quite hold the lightness in his voice.

“There’s a system,” Chicharrón repeated, but like Héctor, the air of the teasing felt heavier than just before. Chicharrón sighed heavily, “Use this one,” he said, shifting his own guitar from where it lay buried with him in the hammock.

Héctor nodded and gently picked up the guitar, tuning it easily as he turned around and leaned on the hammock.

“Any requests?”

Chicharrón let out another weak laugh, turning to look out at the water, “You know my favorite.”

Héctor gave him a little nod, plucking out the first few notes to “Everyone Knows Juanita” before singing the words. Miguel sat and watched him in awe as he sang, it occurred to him that is the first time Miguel had seen him play and actually been able to hear him. He didn’t quite know how to feel about it for the situation that it was. He slowed and changed the words to be more appropriate for Miguel, Chicharrón complained but Héctor reminded him of Miguel’s presence. He continued the song, letting his voice carry and flow, hiding his sorrow. Chicharrón was smiling by the time he reached the final note, letting it hang in the air for a moment.

Chicharrón let out one last laugh, “Brings back memories,” he said softly, taking off his hat and glancing at Héctor, “Gracias.”

Héctor turned away and closed his eyes as his old friend began to glow and fade away. He had seen it too many times before, feared it for himself for so long, here for one moment and gone forever the next. He can’t watch his friend go, it’s too much.

The hammock shifted under what was now only his weight. He held the guitar a little closer, squeezed his eyes shut a little tighter, taking a moment to calm down before forcing himself to stand up and grab one of the drinks. In a quiet offering and symbol of mourning, he raised the glass, finished it in one gulp, and placed it face down on the chair. The drink did little to calm his nerves before he turned to leave, catching Miguel half standing and remembering that he was still there.

“Wait, w-what happened?” Miguel asked, looking up at him.

He shouldn’t have brought Miguel here.

“…He’s been forgotten,” Héctor quietly answered, “When there’s no one left in the living world who remembers you, you fade from this world. We call it, the final death.”

“W-where did he go?” Miguel asked. That question they all had down here, _was there something after this?_

“No one knows.”

“But I’ve met him, I-I could remember him, when I go back,” Miguel offered.

“Oh it doesn’t work like that m’ijo,” Héctor explained. If only it did. He kneeled and looked Miguel in the eye, “Our memories, they have to be passed down by those who knew up in life, in the stories they tell about us. But there’s no one left in life to pass down Cheech’s stories.”

They were both quiet as they mulled over the words.

This was a long night.

Héctor shook it off and gave a small smile to Miguel.

“Happens to everyone eventually,” he reassured, “C’mon, we’ve got a competition to win.”

Miguel looked between the two guitars in each of their hands, Héctor picked up on the silent question looking between them as well.

“Let’s use this one,” Héctor said, holding up Cheech’s guitar in his hand, “Keep Cheech’s memory alive down here at the very least.”

“And where do we put this one?” Miguel asked, holding up the guitar he made.

“It’ll be safe here,” Héctor said, Miguel gave him a slightly suspicious look, “No one’s going to take it, a lot of this stuff has been here for a while without anyone moving it. I’ll make sure to come back for it of course.”

Miguel nodded, getting up and walking past Héctor to place the guitar on the hammock, he reached under and grabbed Cheech’s hat to place on top of the guitar’s head. If Héctor didn’t know any better, it looked as if Cheech was still there, asleep in his hammock.

“Come on m’ijo.”

This was a long night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a long chapter, the longest so far, but writing part of the movie through Héctor’s POV is fun, if a bit sad.
> 
> Hey, so I’m driving to a conference in Vegas this week (like today) and depending on my internet access and everything chapter 7 will wither update on schedule next Sunday, or it’ll be late and posted the following Wednesday when I get back, it all depends on whether or not we’ll be on the road. Sorry!


	7. But I Still Feel the Same

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back from Vegas! I do not recommend 10 hour drives, they suck. Also haha, Sike! I said if I didn’t post this Sunday I would post it Wednesday, but I just got home yesterday and FINALLY got to edit this chapter one last time. I wanted to post it today! We’re back on a Tuesday schedule now.

The Plaza de la Cruz was full of energy and absolutely crawling with skeletons playing, singing, talking, and celebrating the holiday. Héctor couldn’t help but smile at the absolutely dazzled look Miguel gave the stage and the glittery skeleton who excitedly announced the competition. It reminded Héctor of the first time he watched a band play in the Santa Cecilia Plaza for New Years, the color of the fireworks shooting behind them as they sang such beautiful melodies. He’d have stayed there all night in that moment if he could.

They shuffled through the crowd and signed up, Miguel barely able to peel his eyes away from the stage until they were rushed to the back with the other musicians.

“Alright, so what’s the plan?” Héctor asked, “What are you gonna play?”

“Definitely “Remember Me”!” Miguel said excitedly and Héctor felt his chest drop.

He started plucking out the first few notes of the song, too fast, not tender. Héctor reached out and closed his hand around the neck of the guitar, changing the pitch of the notes and effectively stopping Miguel.

“No, not that one,” Héctor said gently as Miguel looked up at him curiously.

“…Why not? It’s his most popular song,” Miguel asked.

“Ech, it’s _too_ popular,” Héctor said, rolling his eyes and already hearing the many other artists’ renditions of the still sensitive song.

Miguel heard them too; he watched the other artists and realized that he wouldn’t stand out with the song. He looked nervously side to side, thinking of something else to play, and Héctor worried he might have been too harsh with him.

“W-well… What about “Poco Loco”?” He quickly asked.

“Epa! Now that’s a song!” Héctor said.

Good, good, that was a song he could manage.

A band by the name of “Los Chachalacos” was called up and went marching past, Miguel was on standby now. Putting a strap onto the guitar, Héctor noticed that Miguel looked about ready to be sick as he watched the band, the crowd cheered wildly for them.

“…You nervous m’ijo?” Héctor asked, finishing with the strap and handing the guitar to Miguel.

“…A-A bit,” Miguel mumbled, gently taking the guitar and sitting down on a nearby crate, “…I’ve never performed before.”

Ah, Héctor should have expected that answer, playing and learning music in secret didn’t exactly give many opportunities to perform for an audience.

“I can go up if you want,” Héctor offered, sitting across from Miguel, it had been a while since _he_ had performed but he was sure it would come back to him no problem.

“N-no!” Héctor leaned back from Miguel’s surprisingly adamant refusal, “ _I_ need to do this.”

“…Why?”

“If I can’t go out there and play one song, how can I call myself a musician?” Miguel asked, a desperate look growing on his face.

“…Because you _play_ music Miguel,” Héctor answered, really, that was the only qualification to be a musician. It didn’t matter if you were good or bad, performed for others or not, “And you play music from the heart, you don’t _need_ to perform for others, you just need to play.”

“But you said music is meant to be shared,” Miguel returned.

 _With those you care about,_ Héctor mentally added the rest of what he said.

“Yes, but it’s not a _requirement_ to _be_ a musician,” he explained.

Miguel looked at him with a mix of unsureness and determination, and Héctor realized he wouldn’t be able to sway Miguel out of the performance.

“Alright, alright,” Héctor said with a shake of his head, “You want to perform? Then you’ve got to _perform_!”

Miguel quickly perked up, looking at Héctor expectantly for the lesson he was about to give.

“First! You’ve got to loosen up, shake out those nerves!” Héctor said, giving a shimmy of his bones as an example, and maybe flipping his head around as a way to show off.

Miguel gave his own little shake in return, it’s much stiffer than Héctor’s but he can’t figure out if that was because Miguel’s still nervous or if it’s because he’s living and held closely together by skin and muscles and ligaments. Still it worked.

“Now, give me your best grito,” Héctor said.

“My best grito?”

“Come on, yell. Belt it out!” He jumped up and let out his own energetic grito as an example, letting it fill him up with the same enthusiastic energy it always did. He dropped down with a laugh and a sigh, “Ah, that feels good,” he looked over at Miguel, “Okay, now you.”

Miguel glanced to the side for a moment, biting his lip before letting out the squeakiest little grito Héctor had ever heard. The dog whined and hid behind Héctor as he leaned back and Miguel looked to the side in shame. Héctor sucked in a breath, trying to keep himself from laughing, oh his dear Miguelito.

Héctor heard Los Chachalacos wrapping up, but Miguel looked just as nervous as before.

“Okay! Here’s another bit of advice. Works for me every time,” Héctor said, leaning towards Miguel, who scooted in close with a hopeful and curious look in his face, “The secret to all great operas, ballads, hymns, lullabies, to all the great performers throughout history and the world,” Miguel nodded eagerly, _yes, yes, what is it?!_ Héctor could hear him say, “…Love,” Miguel looked a little taken aback, but Héctor was quick to explain himself, “When you go out there, ignore all those strangers in the audience and pretend like you’re singing to someone you love.”

Miguel nodded, confidence growing on his face, yes he could do this, but it was quickly wiped away when the stagehand called him up. Los Chachalacos marched past them as they headed up to the stage, Miguel, again, looked like he was going to be sick.

“Miguel, look at me,” Héctor said, snapping for his attention and zipping around to face him, the stagehand called from them again, “Hey, hey, look at me,” Miguel looked him in the eye, “You can do this. Sing to someone you love. Grab their attention and don’t let it go!”

Miguel wandered up the steps, looking back at Héctor unsure.

“Make them listen Miguel! You’ve got this!” Héctor cheered him on from the side of the stage as Miguel took cautious steps towards the mic.

The crowd was quiet and expecting, waiting for something to happen. Miguel shrank into himself and took a step back from the mic, his breath making it screech for a moment.

Oh man, Miguel was choking, maybe Héctor pushed him too much. He had been so adamant about performing, but Héctor didn’t want Miguel to embarrass himself in front of a crowd of unforgiving strangers, he was still only a kid.

Miguel turned back to him once again, Héctor was ready to beckon him back before he saw it, that determined gleam in Miguel’s eyes. His nervousness overshadowed it, but Héctor could see it, Miguel still _wanted_ to do this. The familiarity from his own youth was too apparent.

Héctor repeated his “loosen up” shake and gestured to sing, nodding for Miguel to do the same. There was a pause as Miguel looked back at the audience, taking a deep breath. He stepped up to the mic and let out a fantastic grito, like a wolf pup letting out its first proper howl. The audience cheered back in response and Héctor couldn’t help but beam as Miguel raised his hand and jumped into the first notes of “Poco Loco”.

Miguel really _had_ improved! He plucked the notes with practiced ease and began to sing along, letting the mic carry his voice across the plaza. Héctor felt a swell of pride go through him as he watched Miguel sing and begin to dance, climbing up the steps to get closer to the stage and listening to the crowd cheer. Miguel was smiling now, really enjoying himself, and Héctor’s own smile grew wider.

Miguel had finished the first set of verses and was playing the musical interlude when the xolo dog suddenly grabbed Héctor’s sleeve and dragged him onto the stage for everyone to see. He froze for a moment, it had been so long since he performed for an audience, but was able to get his head together and zip around. He quickly tapped out an energetic beat with his heels to match Miguel’s playing. Miguel smiled brighter at his presence onstage.

“Not so bad for a dead guy!”

Héctor laughed, dancing around Miguel “Not so bad yourself!”

They played and danced. Héctor let the music carry him away so much so that when the next line came he is the one to belt it out. He sang a bit more and Miguel sang with him, both doing lines one right after the other and dancing around each other with such energy and joy. The audience cheered and applauded, dancing along to the song. Héctor spun, singing out one elongated note before leaning down to the mic and letting out a joyful grito, looking Miguel in the eye. Miguel returned a fantastic one back and they let out a series of gritos back and forth between each other as the dog howled along at the side of the stage. Yes! He remembered this feeling, this wonderful feeling of playing music together! Of performing and just letting the music whisk you away! Oh what joy! What joy!

They danced a bit more, spinning around the mic and each other as the song reached its end. Héctor picked up Miguel and briefly faltered under the weight as he forgot how _heavy_ people are when they’re still alive. At the last note, he’s able to get his footing and throw Miguel up, catching him as the song finished.

The crowd went wild with applause and cheers as Héctor put Miguel down, Héctor couldn’t believe he’d almost forgotten how wonderful all of this felt. He turned to Miguel in a burst of excitement, they were sure to win!

“Hey! You did good!” Héctor told Miguel, putting a hand on his shoulder and shaking him, “I’m proud of you!”

Miguel absolutely glowed at the praise and they both turned to look out at the audience and drink in the cheers and applause. Everything about this moment felt right and wonderful, Héctor wished that it would never end.

But it did, alarmingly and entirely too soon in Héctor’s opinion as Miguel suddenly grabbed his hand and dragged him off stage none too gently.

“H-ey! Where are you going?!” Héctor asked as Miguel pulled him down and away from the stage, “We’re about to win this thing,” he was certain.

“The family’s here!” Miguel hissed, shoving his hands in his pockets and keeping his head down as he tried to continue to move away from the stage.

It took Héctor a moment to figure out what he meant before he heard the competition host quiet down the audience and make an announcement about a living boy, Miguel. His eyes widened, realizing that Imelda had caught up to them. This was really messing up their plan, but getting caught by Imelda would surely would mess it up in an entirely different way, they needed to get moving.

“C’mon Miguel, this way,” Héctor said, catching up to Miguel’s side and guiding him towards the smaller street alleys they could sneak through.

They got not another step in before Pepita landed right before them with Imelda on her back, letting out a powerful roar that shook Héctor’s bones. Miguel yelled and jerked back, his hands flying out of his pockets and pulling the pictures out with them, the wedding photo came flying out at the harsh movement while the corner of the family photo peeked out of Miguel’s pocket. Héctor dived for the photo without a second thought as it began to flutter down a nearby set of stairs, knowing he shouldn’t leave Miguel’s side like that, but also knowing that Imelda wouldn’t do anything to hurt the boy.

* * *

 

“This nonsense ends _now_ Miguel!” Mamá Imelda yelled from the back of what was positively the largest and most terrifying alebrije Miguel had ever seen, “I am giving you my blessing and you are going home!”

Miguel felt a burn of anger at the back of his neck, her blessing with no music? He didn’t need it! He had Papá Héctor’s.

“I don’t want your blessing!” He yelled out, trying to run.

But the alebrije was right on him, scooping him up in their talons as he’s running and flying up and away from everything. Away from Papá Héctor and the photo he dived after, and away from Dante who barked distressedly after Miguel from the ground before he could no longer keep up with the buildings in the way.

“Stop it! Let go of me!” Miguel yelled, unsure if Mamá Imelda could actually hear him from the wind whipping past them.

He squirmed in the alebrije’s talons trying to get out, but they held on tight. He looked around trying to find something to grab onto, just ahead was a string of lights, Miguel hoped it would be enough to pull him loose as he quickly grabbed the lights and felt himself be jerked in opposite directions. The lights snapped from the pressure and flickered out, but Miguel was free from the alebrije’s grip and he swung down to the ground on the lights, stumbling as he landed and quickly running again towards a nearby alleyway that was too small for the alebrije to follow.

“Miguel stop!” Mamá Imelda yelled as he climbed the stairs, she jumped off her alebrije as they landed and followed after him on foot, “Come back!”

He didn’t listen, instead continuing to run up the stairs, he jerkily slipped through a locked iron gate so she couldn’t keep following him.

“I am trying to save your life!” She insisted, grabbing and jiggling the gate, it remained locked.

“You’re ruining my life!” He yelled back.

“What?”

“Music’s the only thing that makes me happy!” He said, slowing his ascent on the steps to look at her, “A-and you want to take that away! But I don’t need your blessing! Papá Héctor’s giving me his blessing!”

“What?!” She repeated, harsher this time. There was an angry fire in her eyes at the use of Papá Héctor’s name, “You’ve met…” She whispered.

“Yeah I have!  And Papá Héctor’s the _only_ one who’s been willing to let me play music! He’s the only one who understands!” There was a flare of anger for each word he yelled at her, but it sputtered out quickly. He realized, sadly, that getting her to understand was a lost hope, he shouldn’t be yelling at her, “…You’ll never understand.”

She faltered, looking down in thought, and he took the moment to turn and continue up the stairs.

And then she sang.

He stopped, eyes widening at the little line she sings, about a love that can never be lost. He turned slowly to face her again.

“I... I thought you hated music,” he said.

Miguel knew that she sang once, sure, but thought that side of her was long gone.

“Oh, I loved it,” She said with a dreamy look on her face, an old memory crossing her eyes, “I remember that feeling, when my husband would play, and I would sing… and nothing else mattered,” she sighed, Miguel thought it interesting how she still referred to Papá Héctor as her husband, “But when we had Coco, suddenly there was something in my life that mattered _more_ than music. I, wanted to put down roots, he… wanted to play for the world-”

“That’s not true!” Miguel interrupted, surely she must not have known, Papá Héctor said she didn’t want to talk to him, but maybe Miguel would be able to tell her, “That’s not true! Papá Héctor wanted to come home. He wanted to come home to you and Mamá Coco _so badly_ , and he was trying to, but he got food poisoning and died before he could get home!”

Miguel expected some kind of sympathy from her side, some kind of realization of the truth, instead, he saw _familiarity_ flicker through her eyes, like she had heard this before. He tried to explain more anyways.

“He tried to get home to you and Mamá Coco, he loved you _so much_ , a-and he did eventually come home,” he said, remembering what Papá Héctor told him, “When I put up his photo, he came home.”

“You what?” She asked, her eyes wide and flitting from side to side as she tried to rack her brain for something, Miguel didn’t give her a chance to continue.

“I found your wedding photo, I put it up and Papá Héctor said he came,” Miguel explained, “He just wanted to see Coco, to be a part of the family!” He could feel tears welling up in his eyes, “Papá Héctor should be our ofrenda! He should be apart of this family,” Miguel shook his head, “Why can’t we have both music _and_ family?”

Mamá Imelda didn’t answer right away, but that’s too much of an answer for him, he turned away and scrambled up the steps again, ignoring her calls for him.

He needed to find Papá Héctor, he must have been worried after being separated. Miguel tried to find his way back to the plaza, giving a wide birth to where Mamá Imelda and her terrifying alebrije must be, but he quickly became lost. He had no idea where he was or where he was going after being displaced, and he realized how utterly alone his was right now without Papá Héctor or even just Dante by his side. Panic lurched through his chest and he felt smaller than ever before, lost in this mess of skeletons and buildings, when it caught his eye.

De la Cruz’s tower.

It stood tall and gleaming white amongst the clutter of other buildings, an obvious meeting point. Of course, Miguel and Papá Héctor had been trying to get to De la Cruz, so that would be their meeting point. Right? Surely Papá Héctor would know to meet him there, it wasn’t a hard place to find.

Miguel shifted the guitar on his back and headed for the tower, hoping, _hoping_ that Papá Héctor would know to meet him there.

* * *

 

Héctor finally managed to snag the picture as it descended the steps, he ended up farther away from Miguel than he wanted to be, but hopefully Imelda hadn’t already managed to send him back. He tucked the photo into his jacket pocket and went running back up the stairs, slowing as he reached the top, and peeked his head out for Imelda. At this point, it was impossible for him to avoid her, he needed to get to Miguel and make sure he would at least have the photo on him before he was sent back. Héctor mentally geared himself for the encounter, but found no one there. Imelda, Miguel, and even the Xolo dog were gone. An upwell of panic went through him.

 _It’s okay, it’s okay!_ He tried to reassure himself. He could still catch up. He went out into the street and headed in the opposite direction of the stage, calling out for Miguel.

“Miguel?! M’ijo? Miguel, Miguel!”

The farther he wandered without seeing any trace of Miguel, or even Imelda, the more he panicked. Where could they have gone? He kept searching and calling up and down streets and alleyways, but he couldn’t even find the xolo dog.

Oh no, he lost him. Héctor managed to lose his great, great grandson, how could he be so irresponsible?

“Mig-AH!”

His head was suddenly knocked off his body by an all too familiar shoe.

“Imelda!” He shrieked as he barely caught his head.

She was next to him without a moment to lose, swiping up her shoe from the ground as he stumbled away from her and shoved his head back in place.

“WHAT ARE YOU DOING _WITH_ HIM?!” She shouted, pointing her shoe in his face in a most dangerous way. Héctor put his hands up in surrender and took another step back, “Filling his head with crazy fantasies about _music_!”

“I-I didn’t do that! He did that on his own!” Héctor defended but didn’t like how it sounded like he was blaming Miguel. Imelda didn’t think so either as she took another step forward, Héctor continued to back up, barely aware of the nearing ledge behind him.

“What are you doing with him?!” She repeated.

“I-I was just trying to send him home,” he said, pointing to the flower in his hat, she narrowed her eyes at him, “I swear! Miguel asked me for my blessing and I was going to send him home!”

“Then why isn’t he _home_?!” She asked.

Okay, okay, this looked bad on his part, he knew that. Surely he could explain himself.

“I… I just wanted... to spend a little time with him,” Héctor said weakly, too weakly for his liking but he realized his reason is a very selfish one.

“…He told me about the photo,” she said, narrowing her eyes more, _oh man_ , “He told me that he put up your photo and that you said you visited, but I never saw you. Did you _lie_ to him?!” She pushed her shoe threateningly into his face again and he took another step backwards.

“N-no! I was there, I really was, for the past three years,” Héctor explained, Imelda’s eyes widened at how long it had been, “I knew you didn’t want to see me so I didn’t make you, but I wanted to see Coco, to be a part of the family some way. A-and Miguel gave that to me, all on his own accord.”

Never mind the idolization of De la Cruz, Imelda didn’t seem to know about that. He pulled the letter out of his coat pocket to show her, proof that he was there.

“He even wrote me a letter,” he smiled as he looked at it, “It’s one of the few things I haven’t lost… I… I care about him Imelda, about all of you.”

She looked down at the letter with his name written across the front in Miguel’s handwriting. He held it a little tighter in case she tried to grab it, too scared of the possibility of losing it.

“L-listen, Imelda I know that you’re still angry at m-me, but please understand that I wanted to come home, t-that I was trying to come home, but I died before I could,” he said. There’s a flicker of recognition in her eyes, he had tried to tell her this all before, decades ago when she first arrived to the Land of the Dead, but she was unwilling to listen. However something told him that she had heard this again _recently_ , “…I never wanted to leave.”

“But you _did,_ ” Imelda said, hiding whatever she was feeling just before with anger and hurt, making Héctor’s chest tighten. He never liked seeing her like this, which is why he avoided her for so long. She took another step forward and he, another back, like some odd tango between them, “You left and even if were coming back, you never did.”

And Ernesto never told her.

He knew, he knew from Oscar and Felipe, from her shock when he first tried to talk to her after so many years, that Ernesto never told her he died. It was just one of the many things that had bothered him about Ernesto over the years.

“I-Imelda please, i-if I could jus-”

But he slipped, taking one step too far backwards and not realizing that the nearby ledge was suddenly right behind him. The letter flew out of his hand and he desperately reached out for it as he fell. No! He can’t lose it now, but it stayed on the level where he once stood. Imelda yelled for him as he fell, he didn’t know whether to feel happy that she somehow still cared, or sad about the pain in her voice.

Several stories down, he landed in a pile of bones and just stayed there for a moment, no one was around to see him just stay there. Everything swam around in his head before he finally managed to force himself back together, the left shoulder of his jacket now ripped from the fall and his clothes dirtied. It was hard bringing himself back together, harder than before. He felt a bit like he did before Coco told his stories, nearly forgotten. It was a startling realization, they were cutting their time so close, but it meant that Miguel was still in the Land of the Dead.

Héctor looked up at Ernesto’s gleaming tower, hoping beyond all belief that Miguel was heading there as he made his way to Ceci’s studio for a disguise to sneak in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was really excited to write the bit about playing for someone you love from the Coco novelization, it’s one of my favorite lines in it.  
> This chapter goes from feel good to incomprehensible screaming, I know I said chapter 5 was my favorite, but man this one is a close second. Originally I didn’t have the encounter with Imelda and Héctor, but when I did come up with it I thought it was really good and couldn’t not include it.  
> If all goes well, next chapter should post next Tuesday, but I surprisingly didn’t get to write at all during my vacation/conference and I’m all caught up with my chapters. Also chapter 8 has proven to be the hardest to write. Here’s hoping!


	8. I'm About to Fall Apart

_This is a dumb idea_ , Miguel thought as he looked over De la Cruz’s party from atop the balcony’s edge, mentally gearing himself to play a song. His second dumb idea for the night if he was correct, but something about De la Cruz brought the dumb ideas out of him. Whether that was a good thing or a bad thing, he couldn’t quite say yet, the night was far from over. Well, he assumed so, hoped so, for both his and Papá Héctor’s sake. He didn’t really know how much time has passed, the night had moved by in such a whirl. But he wasn’t completely a skeleton yet, so there was still time.

At first, Miguel had waited outside in front of the party for his papá Héctor, but the longer he waited, the more anxious he became. He didn’t know if Papá Hector would know to meet him in the front or if he assumed Miguel would be inside, it was lucky that he had spotted Los Chachalacos and that they had been nice enough to sneak him in.

Miguel had originally been looking for Papá Héctor once inside, yes, but then he caught a glimpse of de la Cruz, and he just couldn’t help himself in trying to meet his idol. De la Cruz proved to be a tough guy to get to though, which is why Miguel was going to do this dumb idea of singing to the party. If he was lucky, this calling attention to himself would also help in finding Papá Héctor, he’d be able to pick Miguel out of the crowds of people. Miguel really hoped that his papá Héctor would see him, not only for them getting back together but also for the fact that he was the first and only person to tell Miguel that they were proud of him for the music he made, and Miguel couldn’t deny how incredibly happy that made him.

Everything about the party was loud and overwhelming, he took a deep breath and held it inside to calm himself, and then let out the loudest grito he had ever done.

Without the amplification of a microphone, Miguel was worried he wouldn’t be loud enough to compete with the noise of the party, but the acoustics in the room let his voice carry and echo in a most fantastic way. The crowd quieted and looked to him, and the dj even turned down his music so that Miguel could play.  

And play he did, Miguel wasted no time jumping into the first notes of “The World is Mi Familia” and singing the words as loud as he could manage. He walked down; the crowds of skeletons backed up and cleared a path for him, fawning and awing as he made his way to de la Cruz. Miguel couldn’t help but drink in the attention.

He was almost there, so close he could see the back of de la Cruz, so close he had begun to make out the marks on his calavera as he turned to look at Miguel. He managed to get the attention of his idol with his musical talent! How incredible! It was something others only dreamed about! He was _so_ close-

He slipped and fell into the pool, unaware that it was suddenly in the way. Water rushed into his open mouth as he struggled and panicked, the taste of chlorine and shoe polish hitting tongue.

He was only under the pool for a few seconds before he felt hands on him, the guitar was taken off and he was lifted out of the pool and onto its edge. Miguel rolled onto his stomach and managed enough strength to push himself up and cough up whatever water he swallowed.

“Are you okay niño?” He heard someone say through his coughing, it’s de la Cruz’s voice, he was certain.

Miguel shakily looked up to see none other than Ernesto de la Cruz, in the bones, kneeling before him in concern and absolutely soaked. He had saved Miguel, it was a dream come true.

De la Cruz gasped, “I-it’s you, you are that boy, the one who came from the Land of the Living,” de la Cruz said, leaving Miguel flabbergasted.

“You… know about me?” Miguel asked.

“You are all anyone has been talking about!” De la Cruz said with a laugh, he paused, “Why have you come here?”

Miguel adjusted himself so that he sat on his knees and tried to hide his shivering as he spoke, “I-I’m Miguel, your amigo Héctor, he’s my great, great grandfather,” Miguel began. De la Cruz’s eyes widened and he suddenly looked rather uncomfortable, oh geeze Miguel was already messing up, “I… I want to become a musician, just like you and my papá Héctor, and, you’re the greatest musician in all of Mexico, you write the best songs, a-and I’ve looked up to you since, like, forever. I… I thought I could meet you...”

Miguel trailed off, but de la Cruz had visibly relaxed, a sideways smile on his face now, “You came all the way to the Land of the Dead just to meet me?”

Miguel laughed and shook his head, “N-no, I got myself cursed,” Miguel said, conveniently leaving out the part about stealing his guitar, de la Cruz probably wouldn’t like that, “B-but I thought I could meet you along the way. You’ve made the greatest music in all of history and I want be just like you, a-and could you sign my jacket?”

The words spilled out of him, but he was just so excited to be sitting before the one and only Ernesto de la Cruz.

“Maybe once you dry off niño,” de la Cruz said with a chuckle, offering a hand to help Miguel up to his feet.

“What did you say your relation to Ernesto was again?” One skeleton asked, poking their head in, others circled around closer to the wet pair.

“An amigo?”

“Héctor?”

“Who’s that?”

They looked between Miguel and de la Cruz, waiting for an answer. De la Cruz was a bit caught in the headlights but Miguel happily explained.

“My papá Héctor was friends with de la Cruz from when he lived in Santa Cecelia. They played music together, he was even at my papá Héctor’s wedding,” Miguel said, the skeletons all turned to him, he’s about to grab the wedding photo and show them before he remembered that he didn’t have it, Papá Héctor went after it, “I-in fact, he was supposed to meet me here, I need his blessing to go home. Have you seen him at all?”

The skeletons looked amongst each other each shaking their heads before they turned to de la Cruz, he was surprisingly tense.

“Héctor? You’ve never mentioned an Héctor,” The skeletons said.

“I thought you were a solo act.”

“My papá Héctor died a long time ago, before de la Cruz was famous,” Miguel answered, again de la Cruz visibly relaxed, Miguel found it odd.

“How come we haven’t met him?” They asked.

Miguel opened his mouth to answer again but stopped, that… he didn’t know the answer to. He thought of the place for the forgotten, his papá Héctor mentioned being there a long time, but he never specified for how long. Has he always been there? Or did he eventually find himself down there? Miguel didn’t really know the rules for the Land of the Dead, he turned to de la Cruz expectantly for an answer, he should know, shouldn’t he?

Once again de la Cruz was tense, his eyes wide as he glanced between Miguel and the many skeletons staring at them, waiting for an answer.

De la Cruz leaned down towards Miguel, “May I speak to you in private?”

Miguel nodded, squirming under the many pairs of expectant eyes.

“If you’ll excuse us, everyone!” De la Cruz announced, the circle around them backed up, “Our living guest and I are going to take a moment to speak to one another.”

He held Miguel by the shoulder, leading him through the crowds to the edge of the ballroom, squeezing Miguel’s shoulder a little harder than he would have liked but that was probably to make sure they didn’t get separated in the crowd. The music started back up as they reach the edge of the ballroom and a security guard handed de la Cruz a couple of towels as they went through a pair of doors that lead to an empty stairwell.

De la Cruz handed Miguel one of the towels, wrapping his own around his shoulders before leaning down to Miguel again.

“…Alright, what do you know?” He asked with genuine curiosity.

Miguel realized he must be talking about his Papá Héctor and the place for the forgotten and everything.

“I- Papá Héctor took me to the place for the forgotten, away from the rest of the Land of the Dead,” Miguel explained while rubbing the towel over him, de la Cruz leaned back in horrified shock, like it wasn’t the answer he was expecting, “I-I know about “being forgotten” or “nearly forgotten”, and all that... and that, that Papá Héctor stayed down there for a long time, though I don’t know exactly how long… I don’t know all the rules of the Land of the Dead, but was he… down there before you died? Is that why no one else knows him?”

De la Cruz relaxed and looked at Miguel with a mix of sadness, concern, and something else Miguel couldn’t place.

“Yes, your Papá Héctor was down there before I died, I wasn’t able to reach him once I arrived here,” he answered smoothly.

Miguel sighed, cut off from his family _and_ his friends, Papá Héctor had _really_ had it hard.

“I… I don’t know how “okay” it was for me to tell a bunch of strangers about Papá Héctor being down there and “nearly forgotten” and everything,” Miguel said.

“I understand, it’s not something very popular to talk about with this crowd,” de la Cruz responded. He knelt down to look Miguel in the eye, “Let’s just say for Héctor’s sake he… he spends all his time with his family that he couldn’t hang out with his old friend.”

Miguel nodded along, it wasn’t true, and he’s certain that de la Cruz knew this, but if no one else has heard about Papá Héctor then they wouldn’t know. For Papá Héctor’s integrity, he would play along.

“Now come on, let’s go look for him,” de la Cruz said as he squeezed Miguel’s shoulder again and lead him to the door, “I can introduce you some of my other guests! They’ll be interested in meeting “The Living Boy”!”

Miguel beamed as he followed Ernesto out the door, ignoring how tightly he squeezed Miguel’s shoulder again; maybe Ernesto just had a strong grip.

“Can you sign my jacket too?” Miguel asked.

Ernesto threw his head back and laughed, “Of course!”

They spend their time talking to other party guests, Miguel was absolutely star struck to meet all these famous figures. They asked about him and he happily told every listening ear all about himself, he talked about Ernesto too and how he was Miguel’s first inspiration for pursuing music himself. Ernesto would always smile at this and push for Miguel to keep talking whenever he brought it up.

Each time Miguel brought Papá Héctor up, whether it was to ask if anyone had seen him or to explain his “relation” to Ernesto, he was always met with questions. Every question managed to be an odd little dance as Miguel or Ernesto would eventually have to lie about why no one knew Papá Héctor. Ernesto’s hand remained on Miguel’s shoulder the entire time, and he gave Miguel a little squeeze every time he brought up his great, great grandfather.

“My papá Héctor gave de la Cruz his guitar after he passed,” Miguel told a little crowd of skeletons when it came up, he pulled out the family picture and showed them, “See this is him, my Mamá Imelda, and my Mamá Coco when she was a kid. He’s got the guitar.”

They looked over the photo with interest, curious about this mysterious friend of Ernesto’s that they had never heard of, “Why is his head ripped out?” Someone asked.

“O-oh uh,” Miguel stammered for a moment, would they buy that he and Mamá Imelda had a fight when he had to also say that he spent all his time with his family? “He and my mamá Imelda g-got into a fight before he died, she was very angry at him.”

They all peered at him with too perceptive eyes, could they see through him?

“So is he on the ofrenda?”

“U-uh,” _Oh boy_.

Ernesto pulled him away from the conversation, “Negrete! Infante! Have you met the living boy?” He yelled for a couple of skeletons as he gave Miguel’s shoulder another squeeze.

Miguel realized that Ernesto was trying to tell him to stop talking about his Papá Héctor, and he probably should for how many times he had to lie or correct himself. He refrained from talking about Papá Héctor as much as he could as they continue to go from party member to party member. Though, as the night pulled on, Miguel was less and less interested in meeting others. He still hadn’t seen Papá Héctor and as each minute went by he became more and more antsy. Miguel felt light, physically light, like he was losing mass, losing flesh and becoming bones. Ernesto, he realized, was moving at an aggravatingly slow pace

“I-I think I should go look for Papá Héctor on my own,” Miguel said, feeling desperate and a bit trapped under Ernesto’s tight grip, “Thank you very much for all you done and for the signature, but I’ve gotta make sure I get home tonight.”

“Nonsense!” Ernesto said as he squeezed Miguel’s shoulder even harder to make sure he stayed there, “We should stick together and look for him, you might get lost in this big crowd. And besides the fireworks are about to start!”

Ernesto pulled Miguel along at a snail’s pace to one of the large windows, a number of other skeletons followed and joined them, crowding around. Miguel didn’t fight him but felt increasingly anxious with each second. Didn’t Ernesto understand the gravity of Miguel’s situation?

The crowd watched the landscape in patient awe, a few more seconds pass before the first firework finally shot off and exploded before them in a fantastic array of color. Ernesto jumped up and squealed at the fireworks, turning excitedly to Miguel in a way not unlike a child would. Miguel would have found it amusing, but he realized that Ernesto’s grip had loosened as he turned back to the window, and took the opportunity to sneak away.

“Sorry Señor de la Cruz! I’ve gotta go!” Miguel said as he slipped through the crowd, “It’s was really nice meeting you! You’re a really cool guy!”

Ernesto turned to him, shocked to see that Miguel had managed to break away from him, “Wait! Wait!” He called, but with his size he couldn’t get past the crowds of skeletons like Miguel could.

Miguel rolled the shoulder that Ernesto held onto once out of the main crowd by the window. He glanced around the room for Papá Héctor before he ran off to the other rooms that they hadn’t looked through for too long, calling out his name. Miguel was running out of time.

* * *

 

Héctor stood before the mansion of obnoxious glittering lights disguised as Frida Kahlo. He had made it in the party without a problem, which was both good and nerve wracking. He was waiting, just waiting, for someone to looks hard enough at him to realize his bones weren’t as white as hers, or that his calavera markings weren’t quite the same, or that he wasn’t wearing shoes. He didn’t want to have to put the costume on in the first place, knowing that once he wore it he would undoubtedly lose it somehow, and with it, Ceci’s good graces. But when he looked around the party’s entry area to see if Miguel was there and had somehow waited around for him out front, he came up with nothing, so now here he was, inside the one place he hadn’t ever really tried to go.

Skeletons were gathered out front for the fireworks show before them. Occasionally one or two would “recognize” him and want to chat. It was easy to brush them off, saying he was looking for Ernesto and asking where he was. Most would point him in odd directions they thought they had last seen him.

“Oh! He’s with the boy who came from the Land of the Living you know,” One in particular had said, “Such a sweet kid.”

Héctor’s chest squeezed knowing that Miguel _was_ here, thank goodness, he guessed right. He ran off in the direction of the mansion that the skeleton pointed, thanking them as he rushed passed the number of other skeletons who all tried to stop and talk to him. He didn’t stop until he was inside, only a small handful of party goers lingered, and most were looking out the window at the fireworks show. Scanning the ballroom, Héctor felt his anxiety climb with every second he didn’t see Miguel. Finally in the far corner, he spotted Ernesto talking with a couple of other skeletons.

Miguel was distinctly _not_ with him.

Héctor rushed up to Ernesto none the less, hopefully he wasn’t too late.

“Frida!” Ernesto greeted once he saw Héctor approaching, “I thought you couldn’t make it.”

“Can I speak to you, _alone_?” Héctor asked quietly, pulling Ernesto next to him by his shoulder and keeping his voice an octave higher to avoid scaring him off.

Ernesto gave him a look that Héctor unfortunately recognized from their youth, “Of course,” he whispered back, he turned to the others he was talking with, “If you’ll excuse us for just a moment.”

They made their way over to a side door that opened into a stairwell, its empty, quiet, and starkly dull when compared with the extravagant lighting of the main ballroom.

“You know I never thought you would actually accept my request to “get together”,” Ernesto said, Héctor frowned at the implication, he really didn’t need to hear this, “Need to relieve some stress before the Sunrise Spectacular?”

Héctor rolled his eyes and ripped off the disguise, “Not quiet who you think I am,” Héctor said in his normal voice. Ernesto’s eyes widened and he backed up worriedly, “Don’t call security! Please! I just want to talk.”

Ernesto looked at him for a long time, scanning and trying to figure out who he is, “Do I, know you?”

“…Is this how you greet an old amigo?” Héctor said with a quiet laugh, but it feels bitter.

Of course Ernesto wouldn’t recognize him right off the bat. It’s been ninety-six years since they’d seen each other, and unlike Héctor, Ernesto hadn’t seen his friend’s face plastered up on every billboard and wall for most of that time. But it was a cruel reminder of why he hadn’t tried too hard to actually see Ernesto after so long.

His eyes narrowed and Héctor was ready to pull out the wedding photo to help jog his memory, “H-Héctor?”

“Yes… It’s… It’s been a while, huh Ernesto?”

“Oh, your grandson was here… M…Marco? He was looking for you,” Ernesto said.

“- _Miguel_ , my great, great grandson,” Héctor corrected, a mix of relief and new worry went through him, “Where is he? Is he still here?”

“I don’t know,” Ernesto sighed, like he was actually concerned for Miguel’s whereabouts as well, but with his misnaming that couldn’t be right, “He was by my side for some time while we went around the party looking for you, but then he snuck away to look for you on his own, he should still be here, it wasn’t that long ago.”

“Okay, okay, I should…”

…He should go, go and look for Miguel. But this was first time in over _nighty years_ that he had actually been in front of Ernesto, actually talked to him. Questions that had been building up throughout the night and throughout a lifetime burned in his throat.

“C-can we talk? Just for a moment?” Héctor asked a little desperately, Ernesto looked cautious, “I just want to ask you a few questions.”

“…” Ernesto paused, Héctor could see him weighing everything in his head, but it took too long for Héctor, so he jumped into it.

“W-why didn’t you tell Imelda and Coco I died?” He asked.

That particular question had been seared into his head for almost as long as he had been dead and had now only recently resurfaced after his encounter with Imelda.

Ernesto looked at him long and hard, his eyes calculating, eventually he sighed, “I tried to, but by the time I reached them, Imelda was …unwilling to listen to me.”

That sounded like Imelda, it sounded so, so much like Imelda and he wanted so badly to believe it. But he knew otherwise.

“Bullshit,” he said, a tiny, almost maniacal, laugh came out of him, “You never even tried to talk to them, Oscar and Felipe told me, they never once saw you. Imelda never saw you!” He’s hissed harshly, but was quick to correct himself, “…L-look, I’m not mad at you-”

“You’re not?” Ernesto asked a bit sarcastically.

“N-no, I just… I just want to know _why_ ,” Héctor pleaded, “Why you did everything you did over the years. Why you played my songs…”

“I wanted to keep a part of you alive,” Ernesto answered.

Héctor let out an airy laugh at the answer, again it felt bitter, “By not telling anyone that they were _my_ songs? Oh _how_ _generous_ ,” he sneered back, “Ernesto de la Cruz wrote _all_ his own songs!” He imitated a swooning fan, “W-why didn’t you tell anyone that I wrote the songs? Why didn’t you tell anyone about me? Miguel, my own great, great grandson, is probably one of your biggest fans and he didn’t even know my _name_ until two years ago!”

“Well why didn’t _you_ tell him?” Ernesto snapped back.

Héctor stopped, his eyes searching for some kind of an answer. Ernesto had him there, it was true, he didn’t tell Miguel. How was he any better than Ernesto? He quickly shook the thought away, Ernesto was taking credit for something he didn’t make, Héctor was in fact _protecting the image_ of the one who stole from him. He looked back up to Ernesto.

“That’s not the point,” Héctor mumbled.

“Oh isn’t it?” Ernesto said dramatically, bringing his hands up to his chest in mock hurt, “You seem to be really bothered this mistruth that _you_ , yourself are continuing to perpetuate.”

“For your own integrity!” Héctor snapped back his weak reasoning, it wasn’t the only reason, but he doesn’t want to let Ernesto know how little his relationship with Miguel was built on, that he worried over somehow losing to Ernesto for Miguel’s attention.

“My integri-“

“-But let’s try something else on for size, huh?” Héctor interrupted, unable to keep his anger from boiling over now that the burner had suddenly been turned on and cranked to the highest temperature, “An ugly truth that I haven’t been able to wrap my head around for nearly 70 years! Tell me if you recognize this: _“Señor de la Cruz has made explicit requests not to see you”,”_ he sneered as he imitated the voice of the Department of Family Reunions personnel who told him that befuddling line so long ago. Even after all these years he can still hear her voice, “Care to explain that one?! Because I am _more_ than happy to listen!”

He stared- glared –at Ernesto, waiting for an answer, a sound, _anything,_ but Ernesto just choked, unable to make an articulate sound. Each moment without an answer dissolved Héctor’s anger into a horrible pain, like a knife that lodged itself into his spine in such a way that it hurt to even breath.

“What happened to us?” Héctor asked, he could hear his voice crack as it was no longer held together by his anger, “What happened to us Ernesto? We were best friends, like _brothers_. And then suddenly it only takes three years for me to hear my own words stolen? It only takes twenty years for you to drop me off like I was nothing? It only takes that long for us to suddenly be unrecognizable? The night I left, the night I _died_ , you said you would move heaven and Earth for your amigo. What _happened_ to that? I feel like I’ve been given nothing but hell! And I don’t even know _why_.”

Héctor was trembling now, he could hear it in his voice, he could feel it in his clenched hands and throughout his whole body. Everything hurt in a way that he couldn’t describe, like years and years of things he had considered nothing more than “bothersome” had suddenly pile themselves onto his shoulders and decided to stab him all at once, and it hurt. He had gradually been leaning towards Ernesto to look harder at him and see if there was something, _anything_ , that he could understand. But their distance is just enough, their time apart has been just long enough, that he couldn’t.

They stood there in the dark silence of the stairwell, their voices no longer echoed up the steps and Héctor almost heard ringing before he heard something else. A familiar child’s voice.

“H-heaven and Earth?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey I've got another Coco fic! It's all about Héctor's time in the Land of the Dead from his Death to just before the movie and it's really angsty. Go check it out!  
> Also thanks to my handful of Beta readers who went over this chapter and reassured me that it made sense and I wasn't just spewing hot garbage! Y'all are dears!


	9. A Crying, Burning Liar

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This wasn’t supposed to be that long of a chapter how did it end up being almost 5,000 words?! It’s the longest chapter for this fic!

Miguel was having _no_ luck finding his great, great grandfather at the party. He had spent a good time wandering around the mansion outside, asking various guests if they had seen him while they watched the fireworks, none had. Maybe he should go to the entrance again? Maybe Papá Héctor couldn’t make it in?

But once Miguel left, he wouldn’t be able to sneak in a second time. He sighed and ran back into the mansion, perhaps Papá Héctor was somewhere in one of the rooms, looking for him as well. Perhaps they just passed each other.

He hoped, he hoped, he _hoped_.

Miguel made his way to the second level, zipping from one room to the next, but finding most of them void of anyone. The party was coming to an end and Miguel remembered Ernesto mentioning that they would move to the other end of town for the Sunrise Spectacular soon, he was running out of time. Miguel slipped into one of the stairwells to head back down to the main ballroom. Maybe he could find Ernesto again and try to get some more hel-

“-they never once saw you. Imelda never saw you!”

Miguel stopped where he was in the stairwell. That was Papá Héctor, but he sounded so… angry. Miguel hadn’t heard him use such a sharp tone before.

“L-look, I’m not mad at you-” Papá Héctor said, softer this time.

“You’re not?”

It was Ernesto. They were talking to each other, alone probably. The way they spoke to each other suggested that it was a conversation that could only be heard in secret, a way that adults talked to each other when they thought kids weren’t listening. Miguel couldn’t help but be curious, what were they talking about that made Papá Héctor so angry? He took silent steps down to get closer, stopping at a spot where he was still unable to see them when he peeked around but could now hear them clearly.

“N-no, I just… I just want to know _why_. Why you did everything you did over the years,” Papá Héctor said, his voice no longer sharp, more of a plea. What were they talking about? “Why you played my songs…”

 _Played his songs?_ What did Papá Héctor mean by that?

“I wanted to keep a part of you alive,” Ernesto answered.

Papá Héctor let out a quiet laugh, but something about it was off, Miguel couldn’t quite figure out how, but it was, “By not telling anyone that they were _my_ songs? Oh _how generous_ ,” he said, his tone sarcastic. Suspicion began to climb through Miguel, “Ernesto de la Cruz wrote _all_ his own songs!” Papá Héctor said, like he was imitating someone.   _Wait-_ “W-why didn’t you tell anyone that I wrote the songs?” - _What?-_ “Why didn’t you tell anyone about me? Miguel, my own great, great grandson, is probably one of your biggest fans and he didn’t even know my _name_ until two years ago!”

Miguel frowned. Papá Héctor wrote de la Cruz’s songs? _That’s crazy… De la Cruz wrote all his own songs._ But he couldn’t get over the fact that in that moment the voice in his head didn’t sound his own, but exactly like the one Papá Héctor had put on.

“Well why didn’t _you_ tell him?” Ernesto replied, there was an edge to his voice.

Miguel leaned closer to hear the answer, his curiosity peaked at this little revelation. Ernesto didn’t deny it, and if it was just the two of them then he must have been telling the truth. _Why_ didn’t _Papá Héctor say anything? Why didn’t he tell Miguel?_ There wasn’t an immediate response from Papá Héctor, and it bothered Miguel, did he somehow know that he was listening in on their conversation?

“That’s not the point,” He mumbled, and Miguel had to restrain himself from saying anything.

“Oh isn’t it?” Ernesto replied, there’s an angry tone creeping into his voice, “You seem to be really bothered this mistruth that _you_ , yourself are continuing to perpetuate.”

“For your own integrity!” Papá Héctor almost growled out, Miguel flinched in response.

“My integri-“

“-But let’s try something else on for size, huh?” Papá Héctor continued, not giving Ernesto a moment to talk. He sounded so angry, so _hurt_ , fear crept through Miguel as he listened, “An ugly truth that I haven’t been able to wrap my head around for nearly 70 years! Tell me if you recognize this: “ _Señor de la Cruz has made explicit requests not to see you_ ”,” Again he sounded like he was imitating someone, was that something someone actually said to Papá Héctor? It didn’t match up with what Ernesto said at all, “Care to explain that one?! Because I am _more_ than happy to listen!”

 _Yes, yes, please explain_. Miguel mentally urged as he leaned closer.

But Ernesto didn’t make a sound, at least not one that Miguel could hear. He didn’t like what all this was implying, Ernesto actually tried to avoid Papá Héctor? They weren’t as close friends as he thought? Suddenly all the little inconsistencies Miguel noticed with Papá Héctor throughout the night were making sense in an entirely different way. He wasn’t sure if he liked this new information.

“What happened to us?” Papá Héctor asked. His voice cracked as he did, he was still angry, but it was clouded by so much _hurt_. Miguel put his hand over his chest, he knew for sure that he did _not_ like hearing Papá Héctor like this, “What happened to us Ernesto? We were best friends, like _brothers_. And then suddenly it only takes three years for me to hear my own words stolen? It only takes twenty years for you to drop me off like I was nothing? It only takes that long for us to suddenly be unrecognizable?” Miguel swore his heart broke with every question, Ernesto really did all that to Papá Héctor? How could he? And _why_? “The night I left, the night I _died_ , you said you would move heaven and Earth for your amigo,” – _Wait a minute_ \- “What _happened_ to that? I feel like I’ve been given nothing but hell! And I don’t even know _why_.”

Miguel felt his throat catch. _Heaven and Earth?_ Like in the de la Cruz movie? He took a sharp breath, he didn’t like what this is implying, he doesn’t like it one bit. He couldn’t keep silent anymore, the questions practically bursting from him.

“H-heaven and Earth?” He squawked out.

Papá Héctor and Ernesto both gasped, Miguel moved down the stairwell, making his steps loud. He didn’t have to go far before he could see Ernesto, a few more steps and he saw Papá Héctor standing across from him, hands clenched at his sides and shoulders tense, but they quickly relaxed when he saw Miguel.

“M’ijo!” Papá Héctor cried out, running over to Miguel and scooping him into a hug before he could reach the bottom of the stairs.

Distracted for the moment, Miguel felt a tiny bubble of laughter flow through him as he returned the hug. He was so _relieved_ to see Papá Héctor, no longer having to worry if he would be able to get back to the Land of the Living. He barely caught Ernesto watching their cheerful reunion without emotion as Papá Héctor put Miguel down and grabbed his face.

“M’ijo I was so worried! I didn’t know where you went, a-and I knew Imelda hadn’t managed to send you back yet, but oh, I’m so glad you’re here!” The words tumbled out of Papá Héctor’s mouth in a mess, but Miguel could still understand him.

“I’m sorry, I tried to find you, but Mamá Imelda’s alebrije took me really far, and I got lost,” Miguel explained.

“It’s okay, I’m so glad you’re safe m’ijo,” Papá Héctor said, wrapping him in another quick hug, “I-I need to send you back to the Land of the Living.”

He reached up, pulling the flower from his hat and the wedding picture from his coat pocket. Miguel only just noticed how messy he looked when compared to earlier, with his clothes dirtied and his coat shoulder torn, what happened to him?

He didn’t have a moment to dwell on it as Ernesto’s hand suddenly reached out and grabbed the photo, he looked over it with an unreadable expression and Miguel remembered why he revealed himself in the first place.

“You said “Heaven and Earth”?” He asked once again, “Just like the movie?”

“What?” Papá Héctor asked.

“That’s... Don Hidalgo’s toast,” Miguel explained, but he’s starting to feel sick from the implications at the parallels, it could just be a coincidence, right? “From the de la Cruz movie, _El Camino a Casa_.”

Papá Héctor softly shook his head, “I, I was talking about my real life, m’ijo.”

“No, it’s in there. Come on,” Miguel took Papá Héctor’s hand and pulled him out of the stairwell and into the ballroom where the movie projectors still played little clips of de la Cruz movies, trying to ignore the sick feeling crawling through him.

Ernesto followed them out into the ballroom, still half focused on the photo in his hands. There was no one left in the room now. Miguel looked from projector to projector, trying to find one that was playing the scene he was thinking about, remembering how he and Ernesto had watched it together just earlier during the party, Ernesto had bragged about doing his own stunts and Miguel had been so dazzled at hearing it, that feeling was long gone now.

“There,” Miguel said, pointing up towards a projector, Papá Héctor took a step towards it, watching in curiosity.

“ _This calls for a toast! Haha!_ ” The voice of “Don Hidalgo” on the screen echoed throughout the ballroom as if it was the only one there, “ _I would move heaven and Earth for you, mi amigo._ ”

 _Heaven and Earth_ , just like what Papá Héctor said.

“…But in the movie, Don Hidalgo poisons the drink,” He explained, looking between the screen and Papá Héctor’s reaction, there’s recognition in his eyes.

“ _Salud!_ ” The glasses clanked together, and the characters drank, but Ernesto dramatically spat out his drink and grabbed his throat, “ _Poison!_ ” He exclaimed.

Papá Héctor’s eyes widened as he took a step back. Miguel waited for him to say something, to explain what was going on or even what he was thinking, as his own barely there stomach did flip flops.

“That night, Miguel,” he said, looking at the floor, his voice barely above a whisper, “The night I left, Ernesto and I, we’d been performing on the road for months.”

He turned towards Ernesto as he watched them, Miguel now feeling uncomfortable at his still unreadable expression. Papá Héctor stared straight at Ernesto, but something about his eyes, they were out of focus, like they weren’t actually seeing him. Just a Memory.

“I got home sick, and packed up my songs,” he took a gulp of air, “Ernesto tried to stop me, “ _You want to give up now? When we’re this close to achieving our dream?_ ”,” he said, imitating Ernesto’s voice. He hadn’t mentioned this when he told the story of how he died to Miguel before, “But it was _your_ dream, it was _always_ your dream,” There was the slightest moment of clarity as he looked at Ernesto and addressed him directly, but he still couldn’t “see” Ernesto as he was right then, “You told me you couldn’t continue without my songs and I told you I was going home, you could hate me if you wanted. I wasn’t going to change my mind. But I never wanted you to hate me, I never wanted us to fight, you were my _best friend_. And I thought that you felt the same with how quickly you calmed down. “ _Oh I could never hate you. If you must go, then I’m sending you off with a toast!_ ” And you poured us a couple of shots.”

The sick feeling that was lurking in Miguel increased tenfold as he recognized where the story was going.

““ _To our friendship,_ ” you said, “ _I would move heaven and Earth for you, mi amigo,_ ” and we drank. You walked me to the train station, but I felt a pain in my stomach, I thought it must had been something I ate…” his voice dropped low “Or, something I… drank. …I woke up, _dead_.”

Miguel could barely keep his hands from shaking, this meant, this mean that, de la Cruz _poisoned_ Papá Héctor…

Papá Héctor finally blinked at the end of his story, his eyes coming into focus as he could finally see de la Cruz once again.

“You… _poisoned_ me,” he said, and the temperature in the room dropped.

“You’re, confusing movies with reality, Héctor,” de la Cruz replied smoothly, too smoothly now, Miguel realized.

But Papá Héctor couldn’t quite hear him yet, “All this time, I thought it was just bad luck.” he continued, “I never thought that you might have…” his breathing became ragged as he clenched his fists once again, the flower stem in his hand bending at the pressure, “That you…”

Miguel jumped back when Papá Héctor suddenly let out a scream, dropping the flower and lunging at de la Cruz. They slammed against the wall hard.

“How could you?!” He yelled, trying to throw a punch at de la Cruz’s face that he barely caught before it made impact. Miguel stood still, watching with wide, scared eyes as he didn’t know what to do, “You took _everything_ away from me!”

Ernesto cried out for his security and they burst from the doors at a moments notice, rushing past Miguel and grabbing Papá Héctor.

“I just wanted to go back home!” He yelled as the guards ripped him off of de la Cruz and began to drag him away.

“H-Hey! What are you doing?! Stop it!” Miguel yelled. He suddenly found his legs and ran towards de la Cruz, pushing into him and almost knocking his over from the force, “Stop it! Let him go!”

De la Cruz called for his security once again, shoving Miguel away as two more guards burst from the doors and came charging after him. Miguel quickly started running to avoid being caught.

“Miguel!” Papá Héctor cried out as he watched them. He was taken through the doors of a stairwell and out of the room, Miguel could barely hear his shouts.

“Papá Héctor!” He yelled back, changing his direction to head to where they dragged him away while still trying to avoid the guards chasing after him.

He slid as his redirected himself and the guards quickly caught up to him and grabbed him by the arms, lifting him off his feet.

“No! Stop it!” Miguel cried out as he struggled in their tight grips, but they were unaffected, “… How…How could you?!” He yelled at de la Cruz, who folded the photo up and tucked it into his jacket pocket, he glanced up at Miguel with cold, unfeeling eyes, “Héctor was your best friend!”

“…Like a brother,” he confirmed, his voice low. He smiled, that sideways smile from before, but now it felt 100 times more sinister, “Success doesn’t come for free Miguel, you have to be willing to do whatever it takes. …To, seize your moment,” horror ripped through Miguel at the familiar line, “I know you understand,” he wiped away his smile and look to the guards, “Take him away.”

“No, no, no!” Miguel yelled out, _no this couldn’t be happening!_

He was dragged into a stairwell that lead down, the doors slammed closed so he could no longer see de la Cruz’s retreating form. Harsh and heavy breaths ragged through Miguel as he being to panic.

“Miguel?! Miguel?!” He could barely hear Papá Héctor’s voice echo through the stairwell. He sounded so far away, where was he?

“Papá Héctor! Papá Héctor!” He yelled, but couldn’t hear a response, he was too far, “Please, _please_! Y-you have to let me go. I-I need to go home, back to the Land of the Living! Please!”

The guards said nothing, simply staring ahead as they suddenly passed through another pair of doors, leading to the outside. Miguel struggled more, trying, trying to get out of their grip, but it was to no avail.

“Let me go!” He shouted, and they finally did.

Into a cenote.

He screamed as he fell, down, down into the deep chasm until he hit water far colder than that of the swimming pool. It engulfed him like icy pricks and he struggled to swim up to air with his weak, confused paddle. With a gasp, he broke the surface, shoving the hair out of his face and desperately searched for a surface or some kind of dry land.

To his left, a pile of rocks only just peeking their heads over the water. He swam over and crawled onto them, the cold of being out of the water hitting him hard and causing him to shiver. Miguel forced himself to stand.

“Hello!” He called, his voice echoing throughout the sinkhole, “Can anyone hear me? Please! Papá Héctor? Please anyone! I…I just want to go home…”

His voice trailed off and he slumped to the ground, there’s no one out there. He was alone, so utterly alone. He felt small as he hunched over and stared at his hands, they’re almost completely bone now. How could he have been so foolish, he should have just gone home when Papá Héctor first tried to send him back.

“Please,” he mumbled to himself.

A rock shifted, Miguel gasped and stood up, turning to sound behind him.

“…Papá Héctor!” He cried out once he recognized the figure, he looked up at Miguel, his leg shaking as he stood and relief shining on his face.

“Miguel!” He cried back with a smile as Miguel ran over to him, almost knocking him over as he wrapped his great, great grandfather into a hug.

“Oh Papá Héctor I’m sorry, I’m so, so sorry! You were right, I should have gone back home!” Miguel sobbed into his papá Héctor’s ribs as he gently wrapped his arms around Miguel to return the embrace.

“Hey, hey m’ijo,” Papá Héctor said softly, bringing a hand to run through Miguel’s still wet hair. Miguel realized that he’s alarmingly dry in comparison, did he hit the rocks on his way down? “It’s okay Miguel, I’ve got you.”

Miguel’s breath came in shallow as he desperately held onto Papá Héctor, terrified of somehow losing him again.

“It’s okay Miguel, it’s okay,” he repeated gently until Miguel was able to calm down enough and loosen his hold.

Papá Héctor gently pushed him back to look over Miguel, but a horrifying golden light flickered through him and he fell backwards onto the rocks.

“P-papá Héctor!” Miguel cried out as he stumbled backwards, having suddenly lost the support he had to stand. There was a terrified look on Papá Héctor’s face as he shakily looked down at his hands, “Wha… what’s happening?”

But Miguel had seen this before, not too many hours earlier.

“I…I’m being forgotten,” Papá Héctor confirmed.

“B…N-no! But I remember you!” Miguel pleaded, getting down on one knee to look him in the face, “I put up your photo, Mamá Coco told me your stories.”

“…But you’re not in the Land of the Living,” Papá Héctor explained.

Miguel took in a sharp breath. He did this, this was _his_ fault. He needed to go back, make this right while there was still time, but he didn’t want to leave his papá Héctor _here,_ all alone _._

“I need to send you home,” Papá Héctor said, reaching for his coat pocket, he stopped.

“…De la Cruz still has the photo,” Miguel explained.

“It’s… it’s okay,” he breathed out in response, “I just need to get you home, before it’s too late.”

“B-but, the ofrenda, I don’t have another photo of you,” Miguel said, “You won’t be able to cross over.”

“I won’t be able to cross over either if you stuck here,” he replied, “It’s okay m’ijo, so long as you’re home and safe, I’ll be fine.”

Papá Héctor reached up to where his hat should have been, but it’s not there, it’s on the ground next to him. He grabbed it quickly and turned it over, the flower was gone. That was right, he had dropped it during the fight.

“No, no,” Papá Héctor whispered to himself in horror.

He began checking each of his pockets, the pouch on his hip, shaking out his jacket in hopes that a cempasuchil petal that had managed to stick to him would fall out, Miguel did the same. They check and check and look around at the rocks in the area, but there were none. Miguel had no way of going home. He was stuck here.

“Oh Miguel. What have I done?” Papá Héctor whispered in horror as he bowed over, curling into himself, “I-I’m so sorry, I can’t send you home. I’m so, so sorry.”

Miguel didn’t know what to say, he wanted to reach out and tell Papá Héctor that it was okay. But he can’t get over the terrifying realization that he was probably going to die soon, and with it, Papá Héctor would fade. Miguel would be left alone.

“I’m so sorry, I should have sent you home right away, how could I have been so selfish?” He mumbled, the last question sounded more like it was just for himself than Miguel, “I should have never left Santa Cecilia, I should have never left my family. I wish I could have told Coco that her papá was trying to come home, that he loved her so much.”

He closed his eyes and choked, there was such finality in his voice, and it terrified Miguel. It terrified him to no end to hear his Papá Héctor talk like that. Was there truly _nothing_ they could do? He looked up at the walls of the cenote, if they could just climb out… but the walls were _too_ smooth, _too_ mossy, _too_ steep for them to do so. He heard another airy sob go through Papá Hector and looked down at him. There was nothing they could do, nothing but be there with each other for however long they could.

He shuffled over to Papá Héctor’s side and wrapped him in a hug. Papá Hector uncurled himself so he could hold Miguel closer, grabbing his jacket with the same tight grip Miguel had on him just moment’s ago, unintentionally squeezing some of the water out. He took a few shaky breaths before loosening his hold and slightly pulling away from the hug.

“I…I said I would sing you the song I wrote for Coco,” his voice was no longer a wobbly whisper, and he conveniently left out the “before you go home” part of that agreement they had made, “So… just… listen, for a moment.”

Miguel nodded and shifted so that he sat next to Papá Héctor, their arms still around each other in a side hug.

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath before finally going into the song.

Miguel has to restrain himself from gasping when he heard none other than “Remember me” sung out by his great, great grandfather, slow and gentle in a way that Miguel realized he had heard only a handful of times before.

He recalled a memory, one of his earliest memories; he was only 4 or 5 years old at the time. He had been dancing, spinning around to nothing in particular, just having fun, getting out his energy. Mamá Coco had been watching him at the time.

“Be careful,” she had told him in that old voice of hers.

Of course, he thought, he was careful, until his legs caught on one another as he got too close to Mamá Coco’s wheelchair and the shelf, trying to avoid running into them. He fell and slammed his head into one of the shelf’s handles, right beside his eyebrow. It had cut him and he immediately began crying. Mamá Coco had scooped him up from where he fell, pulling him close to her in a comforting hug and humming to him as he cried and cried, rocking side to side. She had hummed “Remember Me”, with the same gentleness and slowness that Papá Héctor was singing to him now.

His thumb rubbed over Miguel’s shoulder, it was exactly the way Mamá Coco’s thumb had rubbed his shoulder as she held him and waited for him to calm down, finally calling for his parents once he did. She had asked him to never dance again, telling a story of when she too had gotten hurt dancing, he agreed. It was one of the few family rules that he actually kept to, knowing that it would actually upset Mamá Coco unlike the music rule would, until tonight when he had danced onstage with Papá Héctor for “Poco Loco”.

Miguel had always wondered why her version was so slow compared to de la Cruz’s once he heard it a couple of years later, and now he knew, it was how Papá Héctor had sung it. Sung to someone he loved, Mamá Coco.

The last note of the song echoed and hung in the air as Papá Héctor partially opened his eyes. There’s a heavy silence between them as they both ponder the song, Miguel remembered one of the things he wanted to ask Papá Héctor earlier when he was listening in on his and de la Cruz’s talk.

“He… he stole your songs,” Miguel said softly, wary of breaking the silence between them, “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Papá Héctor peeked at him from the side of his eye, “I… I didn’t know if you’d believe me.”

Miguel wanted to say that _of course he would believe him_ , but stopped, would he? He wasn’t even sure about it before until de la Cruz confirmed it, he shook his head, “A-and, you didn’t give him your guitar, did you?”

“No,” he confirmed, “Ernesto stole that from me when I…” he paused, _when he was murdered_ , “When I died. I would have wanted it to go back to Imelda and Coco.”

Miguel felt anger burn through him at that, “He…he stole your guitar, he stole your songs, _you_ should be the one the world remembers! Not de la Cruz.”

“I didn’t want to be remembered by the world,” he said, turning to look Miguel in the eye, “Just by my family.”

Miguel frowned, and now Papá Héctor couldn’t even get that.

He sighed heavily, “I’m a pretty sorry excuse for a great, great grandpa.”

“What?” Miguel asked, _how could he say that_ , “No you’re not, _not you’re not_. You’re a _fantastic_ great, great grandpa! You’re one of the only ones in the family who actually encouraged me to do what I love. You’ve been there for me even when I didn’t know you were,” he said in reference to the song he played last year, “And, I’m _proud_ we’re family,” he jumped up, and shouted, “I’m proud to be his family!”

He ran to the water and kicked it with energy, letting out a loud, cheerful grito that echoed through the cenote. Not a second later and it was joined by another, deeper grito from behind him. Miguel turned around to find that Papá Héctor had stood up and let out his own grito.

“I’m proud to be _his_ family!” He exclaimed.

Miguel felt a burst of joy go through him as they both let out a series of gritos, each louder then the next as if they were trying to one-up each other, but they’re not, because they’re family and they’re _together_.

The gritos waned off, the cenote slowly returned back to silence, and with it Miguel felt his mood slowly return to where it once was. They were still down here, still stuck, no one to find them.

But in the distance, a dog barked, it was quiet and Miguel almost didn’t believe it was there, but he looked up and out the cenote anyways, trying to find a dog. The barking got louder, and then Miguel saw him.

“Dante!” He exclaimed, it wasn’t just any dog, it was _his_ dog! “Dante! It’s Dante!”

Dante barked and spun around from way up high, when another shadow joined him. It was Mamá Imelda’s alebrije, with her fantastic wings and giant size able to carry them. She landed on the cenote’s edge with a resounding thud, loosening the water and letting it rain down on them, Miguel couldn’t help but laugh with how happy he was to see her, and on her back Mamá Imelda peeked her head out.

They were saved.

She spotted Papá Héctor and frowned, “Héctor.”

“Imelda!” He smiled sheepishly.

_Oh boy._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me: Blatantly gives Miguel one of my own memories. Well it wasn’t one of my memories per-say, the only thing I remember getting the stitches now, but I have smashed my head on a shelf from dancing around right on my eyebrow… twice. I have scars on both of my eyebrows to match.


	10. I Always Thought I Might be Bad

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me crumpled on the ground: Please I just want to write.  
> Work, summer classes, comicon, summer depression, and sickness all standing in a circle around me beating me up: No.

Héctor held onto Miguel from atop Pepita as they flew through the sky, his legs clamped tightly to her sides as he squinted against the wind. Héctor was a little scared to be on the alebrije’s back, he’d admit, the last time he was here, he broke a rib.

But Miguel had no qualms being here as he did _not_ try to hold onto Pepita and instead happily pet and praised the xolo dog -Dante- for finding them and leading Imelda to them.

“You really are an alebrije!” Miguel cheered.

At the words Dante began to change, a bright cacophony of colors and patterns crawled across his body until his nose popped into an intense green. Héctor held in a laugh at the alebrije’s undeniably ridiculous look, as equally ridiculous wings popped out of his back, completing the transformation. He seemed both very fitting and oddly mismatched for Miguel.

Dante suddenly leapt off Pepita to test out his new wings and quickly plummeted to the ground, Héctor didn’t really have a moment to dwell on the poor thing as Miguel lurched forward to reach out for the dog. Héctor was pulled forward with him and he swore that if he still had a stomach he would have lost all its contents. He pulled Miguel back, squeezing him tighter and doing everything in his power not to begin screaming in Miguel’s ear, instead repeating _don’t move, don’t move, don’t move_ over and over in his head while clamping his eyes shut and just waiting for them to arrive to their destination.

Stars above, he hated flying.

He barely heard the sound of the dog barking and showing that is was okay over the sound of the wind. He just wanted this to be over.

Luckily it was only another minute before they finally touched down, the rest of Imelda’s family waving and running up to them. Miguel eagerly slid off the alebrije’s back, pulling Héctor down with him until he let go and just laid there on the ground, sweet, sweet solid ground. Miguel ran over to the rest of the family as Héctor slowly pulled himself together to stand, he turned to offer a hand to Imelda, but she wasn’t on Pepita’s back anymore. She was now standing before him, a bothered look on her face as he turned to face her. He dared not say anything and instead waited for her to speak first.

“…You, dropped this,” she said softly, reaching down into the pocket of her leather apron and pulling out a letter. _His_ letter.

He quickly swiped it up in a burst of joy, holding it up to see that it really was _his_ letter, the handwriting matched.

“Oh, thank you! Thank you Imelda!” He said, relief pouring over him, “Thank you so much! I thought I had lost this forever and- uh…”

He trailed off, noticing how Imelda stared at him wildly, and quickly contained himself, coughing into his free hand.

“Sorry, I-I… thank you Imelda, you don’t know how much this means to me,” he said softly, bowing his head.

She shook off her shock and looked to the side, balling up her fists, “I can see it means a lot to you. …I know it wasn’t my place… But I, I read through it, and…” she sighed, looking over at Miguel who chatted energetically with the rest of the family, “You two seem to really care for each other,” she said quietly, “And, despite my efforts, I guess Coco never really forgot about you.”

 _I wouldn’t say that so soon mi amor,_ Héctor thought, recalling how the memory of him flickered earlier.

“…I… I can’t forgive you,” she continued.

“That’s completely understandable, you have every right to be angry at me-”

“Yes I _do_ ,” she hissed, pointing a finger at him and effectively shutting him up. It seemed he spoke before she was ready, “Running off, leaving your family like that. And then putting the rest of your family in danger? Miguel spends five minutes with you and suddenly I have to fish him out of a sinkhole?!-”

“Hey, hey, hey!” Miguel said, cutting into their quiet “conversation” and stepping between them, “Don’t be angry with him! It wasn’t his fault we were in the sinkhole, it was mine.”

“It was?” She asked incredulously, looking down at him.

“Papá Héctor was just trying to get me home, and, I wasn’t listening. But he was right, I should have just gone home,” Miguel sighed looking to the side, Imelda eyed Héctor suspiciously, “And I will go home, but first, I need to get Papá Héctor’s photo from de la Cruz.”

“W-what, no, no, no, m’ijo that doesn’t matter now, we need to get you home,” Héctor said, as much as he really wanted to be able to cross and see Miguel and the rest of the living family once again, there was just no way that they could do it, “There isn’t enough time for us to risk it, it’s too dangerous for you.”

“He can’t murder you and keep you from seeing your family at the same time, at least, not any more if I can help it,” Miguel said. There was a gasp from everyone else behind them, listening in on the conversation, but Imelda narrowed her eyes.

“…He… murdered you?” Imelda asked, looking up at Héctor.

“We just found out,” Héctor confirmed quietly.

“…He wouldn’t…” She muttered, barely audible.

Héctor looked to the side, clamping his eyes shut and taking a deep breath to hide the sudden bitterness flow through him, “He _did_ ,” he said equally quiet.

There was a deafening silence throughout family as they all took in what had been said. Héctor was the one to break it though, they needed to focus.

“It doesn’t matter now, what matters _now_ is that I need to send Miguel home-”

As if on que another flicker of golden light ripped through Héctor, causing him to fall over. _What timing,_ he thought. Everyone gasped as Miguel went to his side and tried to help him up.

“…She’s… forgetting you,” Imelda whispered with horror, Héctor did _not_ want her or the rest of the family to see him like this.

“She’s likely already forgotten me,” he muttered, looking up from the ground to Miguel, who lightly shook his head, _not yet_ , “I need to send you home.”

“The photo,” Miguel said, Héctor frowned, he couldn’t really be thinking about that right now, could he? “We still have time, we _have_ to have time. We have until sunrise, we could get the photo, you’d still be able to crossover-”

“Miguel, no-”

“How long is it until sunrise?” Miguel asked the family.

They looked amongst each other until Julio stepped forward, “…About an hour,” he said.

“That enough time,” Miguel said, he looked up to Imelda before Héctor could protest, “Please we have to get his photo. Papá Héctor should _be_ on our offrenda.”

Imelda took a sharp breath.

“…He should,” Imelda responded quietly, staring straight at Miguel.

If Héctor still had a heart he swore it would have soared at her words. But, “…A… As much as I’d like that-”

“-Please,” Miguel cut him off, a look of determination on his face once again telling Héctor that he wouldn’t be swayed, “Just let me do this for you.”

Héctor had to hold in the crazed laugh that threatened to spill out of him. People didn’t _do_ things for him, not anymore. He was a speck in this world, someone who just scraped along stealing what he needed, ignored by everyone else until he called attention to himself. It had been so long, felt so odd to hear that someone actually wanted to do something _for_ him. He resigned with a sigh and nodded, Miguel brightened in response.   

“We’re more than willing to help,” Imelda said, and again Héctor swore his heart would have soared if he still had it, she looked to Miguel, “How do we get to de la Cruz?”

Miguel looked to the side as he rattled his brain for an idea, if Héctor’s head wasn’t so muddled from the golden shock he would likely have three already.

“I think I have an idea,” Miguel said with a nod.

* * *

 

Frida was surprisingly accommodating when they came to her proposing that she used less dancers for her performance so they could sneak in to the Sunrise Spectacular and, more or less, ruin de la Cruz’s day.

In fact, she had been enthusiastic about ruining de la Cruz’s day part. Héctor would have to ask her about de la Cruz’s “offer” at a later time.

Ceci was understandably pissed when Héctor returned without the costume and instead came with news that they would need 8 more costumes. Frida had been a good buffer though to convince her to go along with it, though Héctor didn’t really doubt that she wouldn’t have agreed the end. He barely caught Ceci’s mumble of “she drives me crazier than you sometimes” as they all ran off to get dressed and head to the show.

Sneaking in to the show was easy, sneaking out of the prop to head off stage without being seen was easy, taking off the costumes was easy (for Héctor at the very least), everything seemed all too _easy_. Their plan seemed too easy too, as they all huddled up and went over it one last time.

“Everyone clear on the plan?” Miguel asked.

“Find Héctor’s photo.”

“Give it to Miguel.”

“Send Miguel home.”

“Everyone got your flowers?” Héctor asked.

Everyone held out the flowers they had, Héctor holding out one of the three flowers he had.  Call it paranoia, but he didn’t want another situation like the before with the cenote, he had two flowers shoved in his hat and another in his coat pocket. They all nodded in agreement and followed Imelda down some estranged hallway.

“Now we just need to find de la Cruz,” Imelda said, turning a corner.

“Yes?”

Héctor’s panic suddenly spiked when he heard none other than Ernesto’s voice around the corner, he quickly put his arm out to stop the rest of the family and hide them.

“…Don’t I, know you?” Ernesto asked.

Héctor almost laughed, of course he didn’t even recognize Imelda anymore. His thought was quickly lost though as he heard the unmistakable sound of Imelda taking off her shoe and hitting someone with it, along with the immensely satisfying sound of Ernesto screaming alerting Héctor that _he_ was the one who had been hit. _Good, hit him again_.

“That’s for murdering the _love of my life_!” Imelda shouted and Héctor suddenly felt like a kid in a candy store.

Love of her life.

 _Love of her life_.

“W-who the-”

Héctor wanted to run up wave his hands around and cheer like a kid who won a lifetime supply of sweets, _Me! Me! Me!_ Instead he rounded the corner, standing tall and confident with Imelda’s words.

“She’s talking about _me_!” He proudly proclaimed, then looked to her, “I’m the love of your life?”

_Say yes, say yes!_

“I don’t know I’m still angry at you!” Imelda shouted back.

… _Good enough!_

“Héctor?” Ernesto said, looking over at him, Héctor couldn’t help the sudden chill that went through his spine at seeing Ernesto again, “How did you-”

It was quickly replaced by satisfaction at actually getting to _see_ his wife send Ernesto’s head spinning with her boot. Ernesto screamed and Héctor was almost bursting with laughter.

“And _that’s_ for trying to murder my grandson!” She yelled, waving her boot in a threatening way.

Ernesto barely got his head on straight before Miguel popped out from behind the corner in his own confident stride.

“And that’s me!” Miguel proudly said popping out from around the corner in his own confident stride.

The glare Ernesto sent Miguel shot a fear like no other through Héctor. He was just about to step between them and act as a barrier for Miguel should Ernesto try to hurt him. Instead Ernesto took a step back as Miguel loudly pointed out the photo and the rest of the family came from around the corner to back them up.

Ernesto quickly turned and ran, the rest of the family barreling after him. Everything became a blur as they weaved through the halls and dancers. Héctor didn’t really know how, but suddenly he was throwing punches at a security guard that refused to get out of his way as cacophony of fighting came from all around him. And just as suddenly, Imelda was gone, having been raised through the ceiling by the floor. Ernesto ran for her and they followed after.

Backstage, they could see her, standing before an elevated stage with a blazing light shining directly on her wide eyed face. She had the photo, they were so close. Héctor tried to beckon her off the stage, but she stood still under the eyes of thousands of spectators.

“Sing!” Miguel insisted, a good way to sneak off the stage without calling too much attention to herself. But, as Hector understood it, Imelda hadn’t sung in near a century, “Sing!”

And she did.

Héctor couldn’t help but gape. He hadn’t heard her sing in what seemed like forever and a year, it was like he was hearing her sing for the first time once again. Her voice had aged over the years, but it was no less beautiful than when she was young.

A guitar was suddenly shoved into his hands and a mic raised before him, on instinct he played along with her. He felt like a teenager again, playing little tunes as she softly sang along. When it was just the two of them, on rare occasion, Héctor would mostly just play the guitar as opposed to sing along, he didn’t want to spoil the beauty that was her voice as she sang.

And when she _looked at him_. Oh, how she looked at him! With such love and care, as if decades of hatred and pain where suddenly washed away in this old memory of how they played together.

_No dejaré de querete._

He held onto those words tightly as she danced around the guards, along with _the love of her life_ , and agreeing that he should be on the offrenda. He stored them away deep inside him and let them fill him with hope, hope that once all this is over, that once Miguel was home safe, he would be able to talk to her once again, somehow begin working his way back towards her good graces.

When Ernesto grabbed her though, Héctor felt sick. What should he do? Drop the guitar and run to help her? He didn’t know, he couldn’t move from where he played, he simply watched and wondered over and over _what_ had happened to his friend in all these years.

Just as suddenly, the song was over, with Ernesto crying out like a child while holding his foot and Héctor shaking his head. He went over and put the guitar away only to turn back around and find Imelda leaping into his arms with a look of joy spread across her face and a laugh coming from her. Instinct took over and he managed to catch her in time and even spin her around like when they were young and alive. So full of life and full of love.

It was then her turn to pause, slipping out of his arms while she looked away shyly and tucked her hair back. Héctor felt giddy at the sight.

“I forgot what that felt like,” she said.

Ah but she hadn’t lost any of that beauty in her voice, hadn’t lost anything of her musical talent, “You’ve… still got it.”

Miguel cleared his throat from beside them, calmly reminding them of the matter at hand, and holding up a cempasuchil petal he had plucked from his flower.

“Right, right,” Imelda said, she unfolded the photo and looked over it for a second with a warm fondness before handing it over to Miguel.

Miguel handed the petal to Héctor, he held it up firmly between them.

“Miguel, I give you my bl-”

But all too quickly the joy of the moment was taken away as Miguel was suddenly ripped away from him.

“You’re not going anywhere!” Ernesto snarled, dragging Miguel away.

Horror ripped through Héctor at that moment as he swore what he was seeing must have been a hallucination. He was frozen in place as Imelda lunged after them, only to be shoved aside like she was nothing more than a nuisance. No, no, no, no, no, this couldn’t be happening. Imelda got up without a problem as Ernesto dragged Miguel farther away from them. There was a gentle push from behind him, and Héctor found himself able to move, taking cautious steps forward.

“Stay back, stay back!” Ernesto threatened, holding up his hand, “Not one more step!”

There was a crazed look in his eyes coming from underneath his disheveled hair that Héctor swore couldn’t be real, this couldn’t be his friend. He didn’t know this man who dragged his precious great, great grandson away, who fought against the alebrije trying desperately to pull its charge back until he jerked Miguel harshly away, ripping off his jacket. This wasn’t a man he was looking at anymore, but a hallucination, he swore.

“Let him go!” Imelda shouted, cautiously moving towards them, reminding Héctor of his voice.

“Ernesto stop!” Héctor tried to plead, “Leave him alone.”

A flicker of golden light went through Héctor, knocking him and a nearby microphone over. Everything blurred and his mind could barely process what was being said to him.

“I’ve worked too hard, Héctor,” this not-Ernesto said, it couldn’t really be him, with how his image blurred and swirled Héctor was even more certain that this was a hallucination he was seeing and talking to. The real Ernesto hadn’t gone this mad yet, “Too hard to let him destroy everything-”

“He’s a living child Ernesto!” Héctor pleaded, _his_ living child, but neither the real Ernesto nor a hallucination cared about Héctor anymore.

“He’s a threat!” Ernesto growled, and Héctor swore he heard the words echo through his head, “You think I’m going to let him go back to the Land of the Living with your photo? To keep your memory alive? No.”

Even though he knew Ernesto no longer cared about him, hearing that he was actively trying to erase him permanently from this world, the Living world, and onward somehow hurt so much more.

“You’re a coward!” Miguel accused.

Héctor was terrified, _terrified_ of this image that he saw, of Ernesto turning threateningly back towards Miguel, of the way that he snarled with words Héctor could no longer hear nor understand. All he could do was _look_. He didn’t want to look, stars no he didn’t want to see any of this horrifying hallucination. He hated everything about this image. The way Ernesto prowled over Miguel in a most threatening matter, Héctor wanted it to stop, he wanted to stop it. The most he could do though was try to convince himself that this wasn’t real, because it _couldn’t_ be real.

Ernesto grabbed Miguel by the shirt and lifted him off his feet with a harsh glare. Please stop, he didn’t want to see this anymore, Miguel needed to go home.

Without a moment of hesitation, Ernesto launched Miguel off over the ledge. Héctor heard a yell that sounded like Miguel’s when he came down the cenote. He didn’t believe this was real but he screamed and reached out for Miguel all the same.

_No._

No, no, no.        

He barely caught sight of Ernesto walking past him, saying something he couldn’t quite hear over the pounding in his head.

Gone.

Miguel was _gone._

Héctor hadn’t been able to get him home. He had failed, and now, because of him, Miguel was dead.

Died before his time.

It was all too familiar.

Héctor couldn’t try any more, let him fade, please, let him fade so he wouldn’t have to face his own child he killed.

Please, _please._

A brush of wind ruffled his hair, a shuffle of feet and yelling slowly filled his ears, a heavy thump that shook the ground and everything else finally made him look up at what was going on.

It was Miguel.

Alive, he was alive!

He needed to get up! Héctor needed to get up, he needed to see his boy.

He needed to send him home.

Pepita nudged Hector and allowed him to use her as a brace to lift himself, she prowled away once he stood. He took only a handful of steps to Miguel and the family before another golden flicker ripped through him.

No, please no, just let him go to Miguel, let him send his boy home.

Miguel was at his side in a moment, a blurry image of what appeared to be more of a skeleton than the living child he had spent most of the night with. They were almost out of time.

“Papá Héctor! T-the photo, I lost it,” Miguel said sadly, Héctor could barely make out the tiny words, but he did and they filled him with regret.

“It’s okay m’ijo,” he knew they shouldn’t have tried to go for it.

As if to mock him, another flicker of golden light went through him. He rolled onto his back, instinctively clutching his stomach.

“Papá Héctor!” Miguel cried out.

Through the blur of his head Héctor managed to slowly bring his hand to Miguel’s face, despite being able to see his skull, he could still feel the boy’s fleshy cheeks, “We’re out of time m’ijo,” Hector plucked a petal out of the crushed flower in his coat pocket.

“No, no! The photo, we can still find it!” Miguel pleaded.

“Miguel it’s almost sunrise!” Imelda said, suddenly kneeling beside him.

This was his last chance, his last moment.

“I give you my blessing Miguel,” Héctor said as loud as his voice would allow as more flickers of light went through him, and the petal glowed.

He tried to move it towards Miguel but his arm was just too heavy. Smaller hands wrapped around his and helped him along.

“Go home Miguel,” Héctor said, “Sing for Coco, let her know how much I love her. I’ll be waiting right here.”

“I-I will!” Miguel said, “I promise I’ll sing to he-”

The glowing petal touched him and he suddenly disappeared into a swirl of petals.

 _I did it._ Héctor thought as he tiredly laid there. Now he could rest, now he could fade. He was so tired, so very tired.

The petals all fluttered slowly around him, fading as his eyes continued to droop further and further down.

As the last petal hit the ground Héctor suddenly jerked up with a gasp of breath.

That’s right, his memory!

Miguel was home!

He was alive!

Miguel was safe.

Miguel was home, he was alive, he was safe. He was okay, he was okay.

Héctor bowed into himself, his head in his hands and his knees drawn up, letting out a laugh that quickly turned into a sob of relief.

Miguel was _home_ , Miguel was _safe_.

Héctor would stay here, in the Land of the Dead. He may never see Miguel again until many years later when he finally passed, but he would be able to see Coco soon in a couple of years so he could manage. He was just so relieved that Miguel was safe.

He did it. _He did it!_

A gentle hand touched his shoulder and Héctor was reminded that he was not in fact alone. He peeked out from between his hands at Imelda looking worriedly at him.

They had a lot of reconciling to do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Done! Sorry I’ve been gone everyone, my life’s been a bit of a mess and I always have some kind of gap when reaching the end of my story for being unable to wrap things up. We have 2 more chapters after this one so hold on!


	11. Wondering When I'm Coming Back

Miguel awoke with a gasp, unaware that he had even passed out to begin with. Cold marble bit into his face from where he lay on the floor and then his hands as he pushed himself up, cempasuchil petals fluttering and falling around him. He squinted in the bright light of the early morning and scanned his surroundings trying to remember where he was.

De la Cruz’s mausoleum.

He looked at this hands, relieved to see soft, dark flesh instead of gleaming, white bone.

He was alive! Which meant Papá Héctor was safe, he wasn’t going to fade, wasn’t going to experience his final death.

Papá Héctor was safe.

Papá Héctor wasn’t going to fade.

He would stay in the Land of the Dead, and Miguel would be able to see him again, eventually.

Miguel wiped at his eyes, he needed to stop crying, it was okay, it was okay.

He glanced over at the guitar next to him on the ground, Papá Héctor’s words echoing through his head.

_Sing for Coco._

He would, Miguel promised he would.

With shaky legs, Miguel managed to stand. He grabbed the guitar and calmly walked out of the mausoleum, lucky the gate was unlocked. He didn’t want to deal with calling for the grave keeper and explain what he was doing in the mausoleum and why he was taking the guitar.

_I would have wanted it to go back to Imelda and Coco._

And Miguel would take it to her, he would return the guitar to her and he would sing for her. No one was going to stop him.

He walked past graves with blown out candles, cautiously eyeballing the handful of people that still remained in the cemetery sitting by the graves or their family members. None of them noticed him as he left the mausoleum, none of them noticed as he strolled right past them and out of the cemetery with what was considered de la Cruz’s guitar in hand, and for that he was grateful.

Santa Cecelia was alarmingly quiet in the early morning following the holiday when compared to how it was the previous night or even compared to the Land of the Dead. Miguel startled a brood of birds as he walked through the now empty Mariachi Plaza, making a wide circle around the statue of de la Cruz that he would stare at and admire before. He didn’t want to look at it now, he only wanted to go home. Go home, sing, and then sleep for a month or two.

“Miguel!” He heard his papá’s voice yell for him once he turned a corner.

Of course he had a lot of apologies to give out before he would have a moment of peace to rest.

“Papá,” Miguel replied quietly, standing and waiting as his father ran over to him.

“Miguel!” He cried out again, dropping to his knees and wrapping him in a hug.

Miguel returned the hug tightly, hugging a skeleton had a kind of warmth to it, sure, but it was nothing like hugging a living person. It was nothing like hugging his parents, he wished his Mamá was here in this moment as well. Needless, relief and joy flowed through him. He was here, he was alive, he was here with his papá.

His papá released him from the hug and held him at arm’s length to look over him.

“Where have you been? We’ve been looking for you all night but no one saw you and…” He trailed off, his face softening and a hand coming to Miguel’s face, he used his thumb to brush away the tears building up in Miguel’s eyes, “A-are you okay?”

Miguel nodded softly, “I’m sorry Papá, I’m so, so sorry, I shouldn’t have run off like that. I want to be a part of this family and I do care if I’m on the ofrenda, I’m so sorry.”

Miguel had trouble seeing his papá through the blur of the tears he tried so hard to keep from falling, his papá wrapped him in another hug.

“I thought I lost you,” his papá said gently into his shoulder, running a hand through his hair. They pulled away again and his papá looked over him again, wiping the tears out of his eyes, “You’re not hurt?”

Miguel shook his head and offered a small smile, “Just tired, I want to go home,” he said softly.

“Of course, of course, let’s go home m’ijo-”

His papá stopped suddenly, having finally noticed the guitar in Miguel’s hand.

“W-” his eyes flashed between Miguel and the guitar, “What are you doing with that?” He asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

There was fear in his eyes, like he had found Miguel holding something dangerous that he could poke his eye out with. Miguel tightened his grip around the guitar, afraid his papá would suddenly take it from him.

“T-this was Papá Héctor’s guitar,” Miguel began, watching his papá’s expression closely as he explained, “He wanted it to go back to Mamá Coco and Mamá Imelda when he died, so I’m taking it to Mamá Coco. He also wrote a song for her, I-I need to sing it to her.”

“What?” His papá asked him, he didn’t sound like he believed him, “Miguel what are you talking about?”

“Papá Héctor tried to come back home, but he…” _He was murdered_ , but Miguel didn’t really have proof of that yet, and he certainly wasn’t about to tell his family what had happened that night, “He died before he was able to make it home. I just need to sing this one song for Mamá Coco, the song that he wrote for her.”

“Miguel…” His papá said, uncertainty on his face, but it was far better than the demands for him to stop like the previous night.

“Please papá, just this one song, that’s all I need. Just let me sing this song for her and…” And he’ll stop? Well that wasn’t entirely true, he found Papá Héctor specifically because he wanted a musicians blessing, because he very much still wanted to play music. Call it silly, but Miguel was hoping that he could sing this one song and his family could see that this was something that he was supposed to do, “…Just one song.”

There was a long pause from his papá, he looked down and to the side before looking back at Miguel, who gave what he hoped was a very determined look back. His papá swallowed and closed his eyes.

“Okay,” he said with a small sigh, “ _One_ song.”

“Thank you Papá,” Miguel said with a small smile and a nod, “Thank you so, so much.”

“But, that’s only _after_ you apologize to your Mamá, and your Abuelita, and the rest of the family,” his papá said, standing up.

“Yes, yes, of course,” Miguel replied, that went without saying.

“…You should… You should probably give the guitar to me,” his papá said, and Miguel instinctively held it tighter.

“What?” Miguel asked, he couldn’t help the suspicion climbing through him.

“If you came home with another guitar in your hands, your Abuelita would probably smash it like that other one without a second thought,” he said. That was very true, it was something that worried Miguel, “But she might listen to me, or at the very least I can hold it out of her reach.”

It seemed reasonable, but Miguel was still cautious.

“I promise I won’t destroy it,” his papá said softly.

“A…alright,” Miguel finally relented, handing the guitar over to his papá, who took it from him with gentle hands.

He looked over it before looking at Miguel, “That other guitar, you built that, didn’t you?”

“I did,” Miguel confirmed.

His papá sighed and shook his head, a half smile on his face and a look in his eyes that said he was actually _proud_ of Miguel. He stood up and ruffled Miguel’s hair, “You’re quite crafty m’ijo. Come on.”

They turned and slowly made their way back home, his papá’s hand on his shoulder provided a comforting weight that helped pull Miguel forward. The guitar hung out of his other hand, just hovering over the ground. It was surreal seeing his papá holding a _guitar_ of all things, and Miguel couldn’t help but wonder what he would look like if he were to hold it properly and play it.

They rounded a corner and found his tío Berto and primo Able lying on a bench, snoring away as they leaned on each other. Miguel’s papá gave a sharp whistle that startled them awake.

“There he is!” Tío Berto exclaimed as they fell off the bench. They looked up wildly to see both Miguel and his papá.

“I found Miguel, let’s go home,” his papá said with a tired voice and continued on towards home.

Tío Berto and Abel scrambled up and followed after them. Miguel shrunk a little into himself, he could feel them staring at him, but more so, he could feel them staring at the guitar in his papá’s hand. They increased their pace to walk side by side, Abel next to Miguel and Tío Berto next to his papá.

“…Enrique,” Tío Berto whispered cautiously, leaning over to his papá, “What’s with the guitar?”

The hand on Miguel’s shoulder gave him a light squeeze, not at all like the harsh grip of de la Cruz, “Miguel says that it was abuelita-Mamá Coco‘s, Papá’s guitar,” he said.

“Papá Héctor,” Miguel quietly corrected, and Able peered harder at him.

“…Papá Héctor,” his papá repeated, his voice low, “He… apparently he wrote a song for her. Miguel wants to sing it to her… just once.”

Miguel nodded along, just once, but he was hopeful that once his family heard it “just once” they would be willing to let him play it more, and play other songs as well.

The silence between the four of them was stifling and Miguel just stared ahead to avoid looking at Abel or Tío Berto. They rounded another corner and finally saw the hacienda. Warmth flowed through Miguel at finally seeing his home in the morning sunlight. His papá calmly pushed the gate open and announced their presence.

“We’re home! We found Miguel!” He called out.

In a flash his abuelita came out into the courtyard, she looked right at Miguel.

“Where have you been?!” She cried out in a mix of worry and scolding.

They all looked over him with a curious look, he had yet to even answer his papá when asked that question. More and more family popped their heads out, eager to see him and what was going on. Miguel shrunk into himself under so many pairs of eyes, what should he say?

The thought was quickly forgotten when his mamá came running out towards him.

“Miguel!” She cried out, wrapping him into a tight hug that he happily returned, “Oh m’ijo I’m so glad you’re home!” She held him out at arm’s length and looked over him, “You’re not hurt are you?”

He smiled softly and shook his head, “No, I’m okay Mamá,” he said.

She smiled and pressed a kiss to his forehead before wrapping him in another tight hug, he felt his papá’s arms wrap around the two of them as well, “We’re all together now.”

There was a gasp from his abuelita that reminded him where he was and about the guitar. His papá jerked back and Miguel leaned out of the hug to see him holding the guitar high above his head while abuelita looked at it.

“Enrique _what_ are you doing with that?” She asked, and tried to reach for it again, but he was too tall for her.

“Mamá please,” his papá said, everyone looked at him like he’d gone mad, “Please, just a moment. Miguel has something to say.”

He looked over to Miguel, who stood up out of his mamá’s embrace, helping her stand as well.

“I’m sorry,” Miguel said, it was probably best that he started out with that first, “I’m sorry for running away from home and hiding from you for the night, I’m sorry for saying I didn’t want to be on the ofrenda, for calling it stupid, I’m sorry for yelling… and I’m sorry for saying I didn’t want to be apart of the family. That’s not true, I love you all.”

Everyone was quiet as they looked at him, again his mamá was the one to break it again, “Oh m’ijo we know you didn’t mean it,” she leaned over and wrapped him in another hug, “I’m just glad you’re home now.”

She let him go and took a step to his side so that abuelita could look over him, she stepped towards him with big eyes, cupping his head in her hands gently.

“Miguel,” she said, her voice both warm and firm, “We love you very much, never forget that. I never wanted to push you so much that you ran away, and I could never forgive myself if we lost you forever because of that,” She mumbled the second part. She took a deep breath and sighed, “…I’m sorry too m’ijo.”

He smiled as she wrapped him in another bone crushing hug that he happily returned, a quiet chorus of “I’m sorry” and “we love you” came from the rest of the family. Abuelita finally released him from the hug, holding him by the arms, and looked over him with another smile before frowning.

“But… what does this have to do with… _that?_ ” She asked, eyeballing the guitar warily.

“That guitar was Papá Héctor’s, Mamá Coco’s papá,” Miguel began, and Abuelita narrowed her eyes, “He tried to come home to Mamá Coco and Mamá Imelda, but he died before he could. He wanted the guitar to go back to them. And, he wrote a song for Mamá Coco, one that they used to sing together every night, I wanted to play the song for her. Just once.”

He looked up at her pleadingly as she looked between him and the guitar, his papá slowly lowering it down as the immediate threat of it being taken and smashed lessened. She sighed.

“Just one?” She asked.

“One song and then he’ll stop,” his papá added to the half-lie Miguel didn’t _quite_ tell.

“One song,” Miguel repeated.

Abuelita took a deep breath, giving his arms a little squeeze before releasing it in a heavy sigh.

“Okay!” She said with a wave of her hands, “ _One_ song, but we’re _not_ keeping the guitar.”

 _I hope this works out_ , Miguel thought as he nodded along.

His papá turned and gently handed him the guitar, he took it and turned to Mamá Coco’s room. Each step Miguel took was followed by a shuffle of other steps as his family followed closely behind to watch, it made him surprisingly anxious.

In the room sat Mamá Coco, hunched over and looking asleep in her wheelchair, the early morning light cast over her. He smiled and pulled out the photo from the ofrenda, the only one he still had, and placed it in her lap, taking a deep breath before he spoke.

“Mamá Coco, this was your papá’s guitar,” he said, calmly holding it up for her to see, “He wanted it to go to you and Mamá Imelda when he died. So, I’m here to bring it to you now, and to play a song for you, the one your Papá wrote for you.”

He adjusted the guitar in his hands so he could play, barely glancing up at the rest of his family all gathered in the entrance of the room and watched him with interest. He was jittery under their many eyes, though he supposed it wouldn’t be appropriate to attempt a grito in the room. Instead he closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and played.

Gentle, just like how Papá Héctor and Mamá Coco sang. His hands plucked the strings with practiced ease and the words filled him up with a happy feeling. There was also a strong feeling that emanated from his Abuelita, one that told him she wanted to grab to guitar and make him stop, but she didn’t move.

“Look,” Were the gentle words from his family as he played.

And he saw.

He saw how Mamá Coco slowly twitched and perked up with life, how she opened her eyes to look at him closely, they were so full of love.

But most of all he heard how she gradually sang along in that old voice of hers. She sang along with him and the clarity of the words shone clear in her eyes.

_She remembered!_

She never forgot Papá Héctor, she remembered him.

Oh how wonderful! How much joy this filled him with! Miguel couldn’t help the tears welling up in his eyes as they both finished the song, a bright smile breaking across his face.

A sniffle came from the side, and Miguel was amazed to see his Abuelita crying. Tears sparkled in her eyes and across her face, a warm smile on her face showing that these too were happy tears. Scanning much of the rest of the family besides her showed that they were moved in much of the same way.

“Elena? What’s wrong m’ija?” Mamá Coco asked, Miguel and everyone else looking at her in amazement as she addressed his abuelita by the correct name.

“Nothing Mamá,” Abuelita said with a sniffle, “Nothing at all.”

It worked! The song had worked, and in more ways than one.

Mamá Coco turned back to him, “My papá used to sing me that song,” she explained.

“He loved you Mamá Coco. Y-your papá? He loved you so much,” Miguel said.

She looked at him in such as way that asked how he knew that as she brought a soft wrinkled hand up to his face. He may not tell the rest of the family what happened to him that night, but maybe he’d tell Mamá Coco.

She slowly turned away, pulling open the drawer on her nightstand and rummaging around in it. Miguel tried to look over and see what she was grabbing, what could she possibly be grabbing? He blinked when she pulled out a notebook, chocked full of more papers and envelopes than it could feasibly hold, all sticking out every which way.

“I kept his letters, poems he wrote me,” She said, opening the notebook to the first page. Miguel’s eyes went wide, she hadn’t shown him this before, in all his time of asking about Papá Héctor she had never shown him these. Was she afraid he was going to damage them somehow? And why show them to him, and more so the rest of the family, now? “…And, this.”

She pulled out a little triangle of paper from the front and handed it to Miguel, who took it gently and turned it over.

His face, it was Papá Héctor’s face.

Miguel reached over and grabbed he rest of the family portrait from Mamá Coco’s lap, holding the two pieces so that they lined up together.

A photo, he had a photo.

Papá Héctor would be able to cross the bridge, he’d be able to see the family again.

Miguel closed his eyes in relief, a smile gracing his lips.

“Papá was a musician, when I was a little girl, he and Mamá would sing such beautiful songs,” Mamá Coco said.

Miguel smiled and nodded along, he had already heard all of this, but hearing her say it again after her memory being so fuzzy for the past year or so and unable to tell him any of the stories she had before filled him with an undeniable happiness. He stood up and wrapped his arms around her, she remembered, she hadn’t forgotten Papá Héctor.

It was going to be alright.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was really close to pulling out this chapter in only a day but then my schedule decided to not allow me to do that. *sigh*  
> I do hope you enjoyed this chapter and that no one felt too OOC. One more chapter after this!


	12. Love Like You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fkjlkjdkhg the happen with every fic I write where there’s a gap before the last chapter ‘cause I just can’t bring myself to finish things. Also I had finals and stuff, (I finally got my degree!!!). And I’ve been working on drawing the [Coco Tarot cards](http://eurazba.tumblr.com/tagged/coco-tarot) so that’s been eating up a lot of my time.  
> Also also, I went through and edited the entire fic (fixed small little errors and whatnot), but then I got an idea and added stuff, it’s like a paragraph in chapter 2 that ended up changing up the whole latter half of chapter 6 and added like 700 words. It isn’t necessary to read for the overall plot of the story but there’s like one little line in this chapter that may be confusing (just know that Héctor has a copy of Miguel’s guitar from the 3rd year he visited and still has it with him in the Land of the Dead).  
> Anyways, without further ado, the final chapter.

Everything, everything, about this night had felt like a dream; a happy, fantastic, wonderful dream. From finally getting to cross the bridge with the whole of his dead family, hand and hand with his wife and daughter, to getting to see his living family with them, Héctor had felt on top of the world!

Of course he hadn’t started out like this, in fact he had felt quite sick at the beginning of the holiday, paranoid and worried that he wouldn’t be able to cross the bridge. Coco had done more than her share of reassuring him that he would, in fact, be able to cross. She had given his photo to Miguel, who had almost immediately put it up on the family ofrenda. She had reassured him again and again, but the final remaining anxiety that fluttered through him hadn’t gone away until he finally, _finally_ heard the cheerful dinging from the scanner. Yes, his photo was up and he was allowed to cross.

He took a peek at the picture as it was shown on the scanner before he walked over to join his family, curious to see the family photo and the state is was in. It had been reframed, something wider, though just as beautiful, his head had been taped in and the photo had been unfolded so he could see his guitar once again. That was a last remaining photo of him in the living world.

There had been another photo he had on him when he died, one of which he had tried many times before to get to the Land of the Living years ago before he had lost it, it’s counterpart in the living world likely buried in some unknown place and having rotted by now.

His wedding photo, however, had somehow made its way back to the dead Riveras. Unannounced, it had showed up at the front door not a month after Héctor had finally started to stay with the family permanently. A neighbor had come, waving the photo in the face of Imelda, who answered the door ready to scare off another person who came to bother them with questions about Ernesto, and asking “this is you isn’t it?”.

The neighbor, someone who had known Imelda for a short time when they were both alive in Santa Cecilia, happened upon the picture when it was being passed around a circle of people sharing dying stories. Apparently it had been passed from person to person, one neighborhood to the next, over the past few months following Dia de Muertos; each trying to find the original owners by asking around for people they thought looked similar. Though, even with Ernesto in the picture, it took a while for the photo to finally make its way into the Santa Cecilia neighborhood in the Land of the Dead. And now it was back with the Riveras, a little more worn around the edges then when Miguel had originally lost it, and now with half a boot-print on its back end, but they had it.

Imelda wanted to immediately rip out Ernesto, forget that he was ever associated with them, but something about that didn’t sit right with Héctor. So much of his strife had been because his face had been ripped out of a photo, because of trying to forget the past. Certainly, this was a vastly different circumstance, but the fact of the matter was that they couldn’t just _forget_ the past and how it happened.

Upon Héctor’s insistence, they left the photo intact, framing it and putting it up with a handful of other photos they had collected over the years on top of a sideboard. They had, however, elected to hide the part of the photo with Ernesto behind another photo of the dead family all grouped together and taken a few years ago. Héctor was fine with that, while he knew they couldn’t forget the past, he didn’t need a blatant reminder of what his life once was every time he happened to look over at the picture.

But that didn’t stop him from staring anyways. There was a certain spot he could stand, where when he looked at the picture he could see Ernesto. Sometimes he would stand there purposely, staring and thinking over his life until someone would come along and happen to break him out of his trance.

But that didn’t matter now, what mattered _now_ was being with the family, spending the whole time with them and not hiding at any point, what mattered now was gushing over his new teeny-tiny great-great granddaughter, what mattered now was seeing that he suddenly had more offerings this year than he knew what to do with. And along with those offerings were letters to many members of the family from Miguel, thought Héctor couldn’t help but find it confusing and disappointing that there was neither a letter for him nor Coco, of all the family to exclude.

They didn’t take too much time to dwell on it though when Miguel came out dressed in a pristine little charro suit made just for him. They all watched, interested and curious, as Miguel ran over to the ofrenda and grabbed Héctor’s guitar before being dragged over to stand with his cousins, Rosa and Abel each with their own instruments, and having a multitude of pictures excitedly taken by the adults of the family. The dead Riveras all gathered around, were they going to play music? Most of the dead family didn’t really know the state of the living family when it came to music, Coco had been able to tell them a little about the changes that were starting to take place, but even she hadn’t been able to see what had changed in the past few months.

There were excited murmurs amongst the living Riveras and curious ones amongst the dead before Miguel began to gently strum the guitar and sing along. It was a sweet song that gradually built in energy as Rosa and Abel joined in. They couldn’t have been playing for more than a year and yet they did a fantastic job with the instruments they played and with keeping up with Miguel. Héctor couldn’t help but beam with pride at all of them as they played this fantastic song he’d never heard before, dancing with Imelda and even taking it upon himself to grab a copy of his guitar from Miguel and play along.

It wasn’t until after the song was finished, with an excited cheer from everyone as Miguel was hoisted up onto the shoulders of his papá and tío, that Héctor overheard that Miguel had actually written the song himself. Pride swelled through Héctor as he watched Miguel go into some other song. There was something exciting in hearing that his great, great grandson was turning out just like him. It was something that he had certainly hoped for Coco when she was first born, as so many parents do, and while most of the family turned out like Imelda, Héctor was still excited to see someone turn out like him.

They spent much of the rest of the night just singing, playing and having a wonderful time. The excitement of the holiday quieted as the night wore on and the youngest began to doze off. They were tucked in and the rest of the family began to clean up or get ready to return to the Land of the Dead. Héctor and Coco lingered back, intent on singing their song for Miguel alone before actually heading back themselves.

“You want to stay back?” Imelda asked looking between the two of them.

“Just for a bit,” Hector said.

“Secret song, you know?” Coco added with a wink.

“Alright,” Imelda sighed, “We’ll bring your offerings back so you don’t have to carry them all.”

“Thank you mi amor,” Héctor said, giving her a kiss on the cheek.

“Make sure you two stay together, and _make_ sure you come home before sunrise,” she said, giving a very pointed look at Héctor.

He laughed lightly as Coco gave Imelda a hug, “We shouldn’t be more than an hour,” she reassured.

They watched as the family gathered up their offerings and headed off back to the bridge. Héctor and Coco took to sitting under a tree in the courtyard, watching the rest of the family clean up and quietly talking between each other. It was just like before, only this time Coco could actually talk back to him and hear everything he was saying, and Héctor liked that immensely more than talking at her.

When the cleanup was finally done, and everyone had headed into their beds for the night, Héctor and Coco headed to Miguel and Abel’s room. Dante perked up from where he lay next to Miguel’s bed as they calmly walked over to Miguel and stood ready to sing and guitar poised to play their song for him, but Miguel was awake, and watching Abel closely, just like last time. Héctor waited for him to do something.

“Papá?” Coco whispered over to him, “Shouldn’t you start playing?”

“Just a moment m’ija,” Héctor responded looking closely at Miguel, “He did this last time.”

Coco gave him a perplexed look that was quickly wiped away when Miguel slowly climbed out of his bed without a sound. They both backed up and watched as Miguel quietly pitter-pattered over to the door, brushing his hand over Dante’s head and causing the dog to stand up and follow him.

“Come on m’ija, I think I know where he’s going,” Héctor said, slinging the guitar on his back and following after Miguel.

The three of them trailed after Miguel as he headed to the ofrenda room, grabbed the guitar off the ofrenda once again, and slung it over his back before crossing the courtyard towards the hidden attic, just as suspected. He grabbed a ladder this time, thank goodness, and placed it against the side of the building. There was a moment before he started climbing where he scanned the area, making sure no one was behind him, he looked over to Dante panting behind him.

“You’re loud,” he whispered matter-of-factly. Dante’s panting didn’t slow but he wagged his tail at the acknowledgement, “Are they with us?”

Dante swallowed, stopping his panting for a moment and moving his head forward as an answer while wagging his tail even faster.

Miguel smiled and looked up. He was a little off, looking over Coco’s right shoulder as opposed to directly at them, but they understood that he was supposed to be looking at them.

“Follow me,” he said with a smile, as if they weren’t already, and scrambled up the ladder.

Dante waited for them to go up after him before following after.

“This is my old hiding spot,” Coco mused as she watched Miguel climb under the shoe sign.

“Your old hiding spot? Hector asked as they squeezed into the attic after Miguel.

“Yeah,” She hummed gently, “With mamá’s ban on music, this was the only place at home that I could sing or do anything like such,” Héctor smiled a sad smile at the far-off look she gave with the memory, “Why did he bring us here?”

“He used it as his own musical hideout as well,” Héctor answered, looking around the area and noting the distinct differences, “He used to have a shrine to Ernesto, over there,” he pointed to the back of the attic, the curtain pulled back to reveals it’s now empty contents sans the TV, “That’s where he put the wedding photo, the one we have on the sideboard, that allowed me to cross the bridge and see you.”

The shrine and much of the other contents of the attic were gone now, leaving a wide open space for them, a half circle of candles and cempasuchil petals and flowers sat around the edges of the attic, their ends flanked by small envelopes. Miguel sat down in the center of the half circle, the candles glowing behind him as he shifted the guitar to his front.

“Uhh, if I’m guessing correctly it’s just Papá Héctor and Mamá Coco with me, right?” He looked around the room before turning to Dante who had settled behind him, the dog gave a huff in confirmation, “I, um, if you noticed I didn’t put your letters on the family ofrenda, they’re right here, so, um, so you’d know to follow me.”

He shook his head at the explanation as they sat across from him, grabbing the letters nearest to them and trading each for the correct names. Neither open the letters right then as they waited for Miguel’s next move, Héctor move the guitar around to his front in guessing what Miguel would do next.

“I’d like to sing another song for you,” He said quietly with a sheepish smile on his face as he held up the guitar in his hang, “…Sing along if you know the words.”

He didn’t waste another moment before he jumped into the first notes of “Remember me”, strumming slowly, gently. Héctor and Coco shared a smile and joined him, plucking along on his guitar and both singing along with the words along with Miguel.

This feeling Héctor had, being here, singing along with his daughter and great, great grandson was such a wonderful feeling. There was no more vile with the song when he sang, there was no more reason to worry about what was to come for him, there was only a peaceful feeling left in him. Everything about this night was good, everything about him felt good. The last notes of the song hung in the air with warm reverberation, Héctor couldn’t help the smile across his face.

“We love you m’ijo,” Coco said, Héctor nodded along.

“Goodnight,” Miguel said, with a little nod of his head.

“See you next year,” Héctor replied, watching as Miguel got up and crawled out of the attic with Dante following quickly after.

Héctor and Coco sat there for a moment, quiet and smiling, taking in the happy feeling on the moment and holding their letter between their fingers.

“Let’s head home,” Héctor said gently, shifting the guitar to his back once again as Coco looked at him curiously, holding up the letter, “We can open them once we’re back.”

She nodded and took his outstretched hand, letting him help her up and out of the attic, both of them taking a deep breath, enjoying the fresh air of the outside as they stood on the roof before making their way back to the bridge. They chatted quietly the entire way home, finally greeted with the cheerful open arms of their family and getting ready for bed.

In his and Imelda’s room, Héctor leaned his guitar against the wall, right next to Miguel’s, sitting on the bed and opening his letter.

“Oh, you _did_ get a letter from Miguel?” Imelda asked, peeking over his shoulder as she undid her hair.

“I did,” he confirmed, “He hid mine and Coco’s letters in a special place for us to find.”

She smiled and gave him a kiss on the cheek before turning and curling up in bed, leaving him to read his letter privately.

_Papá Héctor,_

_As you can probably see things are going great for me. Music isn’t considered a curse to the family anymore, I’m allowed to play and practice the guitar as much as I like now. Having music in the family has really brought us all closer together, you were right, music is supposed to be shared with those you care about. Socorro is lucky, she’ll get to grow up with music in her life, I’ll make sure of that._

_I hope you enjoyed the songs I played, I wrote the first one myself!_

Héctor smiled, again that proud feeling bloomed throughout him.

_I hope that Mamá Imelda and the rest of the family liked it too, and that music is more accepted in the family on your side as well._

_Mamá Coco and I shared your stories with the rest the family, I’m sure she already told you that but I just wanted to let you know. You’re not going to be forgotten, your story is being told._

_I love you Papá Héctor, I’ll be waiting for you for the next holiday._

_-Miguel_

Héctor calmly folded the letter as he finished, the smile on his face growing wider as he placed it on the nightstand next to the previous letter. He changed into his pajamas before curling up next to Imelda.

 _Until next year_ , He thought, drifting off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Done! I do hope you all enjoyed this fic, and feel free to check out my other stories or even [my tumblr](http://eurazba.tumblr.com/)where you can just… like… talk to me and see what I’m doing next!


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